Gordon Truth: Ace Attorney, Fall of the Turnabout
by Ioniclunch
Summary: The second case in the new Ace-Attorney saga. A famous billionare is dead, and the rookie attorney Gordon Truth is pulled into the legal action. With only one case under his belt, can our newbie pull through? OC heavy. Fianl chapter is up, all is revealed
1. Chapter 1

Hey everyone, Ioniclunch here! Welcom to the new saga of Ace Attorney! It's not official or anything, I'm only a fan, but I really think my Gordon Truth series is good enough to be published on this site. I also try to challange my audience as much as possible, so you may notice that each chapter in trial ends with a cliffhanger. I challange you to find the evidence that is needed to continue the plot at the end of each chapter!

Anyway, please enjoy the story (and if you haven't read the first Gordon Truth trial, you probably should. You can find it on my profile.)

Oh, and I don't own Ace Attorney or anything; although I kind of wish I did. :(

--

I stared at the coffee in my hand, it looked delicious. I took a sip and immediately regretted it when my eyelids drooped and I almost began to snore. I quickly faked it as a sneeze and wiped my eyes with my tie.

"So Gordon, Ken tells me you're an attorney."

I hiccupped, and a bit of coffee dribbled out of my lip. "Yeah, I think so."

The guy nudged Ken. "Your buddy have too much to drink?"

"Something like that." Ken smiled. "Coffee tires him out."

"What? Naw, coffee's supposed to wake you up! C'mon Mr. Attorney, drink you heart out, It'll be good for you!" he slapped me on the shoulder. Probably first thought as a friendly gesture, the man was so overdone his buddy-slap ended with me spilling coffee all over my pants.

"I'll pass." I put down the mug as I tried to listen to another dirty joke Ken's ass of a friend spewed out. For the life of me I just couldn't tolerate the guy, much less remember his damn name. I picked a napkin from the desk and tried without success to soak the drink off my best (and only) brown suit. I stood up, glad for an opportunity to leave the room, and announced my need to use the facilities.

"Yeah, it'd be a shame to waste that nice suit." Ken sipped some more whatever-he-was-drinking and began conversing with the idiot once again.

I shut the door behind me and stared out at the jungle of apricot-painted hallways. The horrible color nauseated me, I might have to find that bathroom sooner than I'd like. Several more drab hallways later, I took a left and continued on my way to the ever-escapable restroom, wondering of the thrilling and intense conversations shared at each water cooler I passed. I grasped the handle of an unmarked door and twisted. Luckily enough, it happened to be a bathroom. I stormed the towel dispenser and wiped my already ruined garb for good measure. I sighed, thinking of the bill I'd have to pay the dry-cleaners tomorrow, or officially, later today. God bless him, but Ken Cline really had no idea how to show a friend a good time. Sure, it looked like a good proposal, the 30th birthday of the city's token rich boy, Sid Herms, who coincidentally was the boss of one of Ken's old friends. We were all treated to some free food at some fancy seafood place. After poking the thing the waiter brought me to see if it moved, I came back with Ken to Sid Herms' office building. Well, I hope Sid is happy; he single-handedly ruined my happy-go-lucky mood. I was ready to tackle the next person that showed his frilly, aristocratic face.

I stumbled out of the bathroom and sat down in the hallway. If only I had a car, I'd drive the hell out of this dump. After wandering the halls begging for something distracting, I heard something behind me. I turned to find a long staircase. A man came down the stairs and stared into my face, dumbstruck and surprised to see me standing there.

"Can I help you sir?" I asked.

"Oh, hello there."

I raised my brow at him. "Are you alright,-" I looked him over; professional-looking, tan suit included. "Mr.-?"

"Herms, Sid Herms." He brushed the back of his red-brown hair and darted his eyes around. "This is floor 17, right?"

I looked at the small plaque next to the staircase and across from the elevator. "Yeah, believe so."

"I'll… just be going now." Before I could say anything else, he slipped away. I let my mouth hang open mildly for a few seconds. What was that all about? He looked like he had seen a ghost. I put it out of my head; he probably just had too much to drink. I sat and lay against the wall. It was snugger than it looked. Maybe if I just rested here for a moment…

I awoke hot and sweaty. I stood and looked around me; I was still in the hallway. Thank God I was a light sleeper. Staggering to stand up, I made my way back to the Ken's room.

I pushed open the slightly ajar door and sat down. "Ken, what time is it?"

"Hey, how's your suit?"

"Ruined. The time, now."

"Um," he checked his watch, "just over three o'clock am, why?"

_Why? Did he seriously just ask that?_

"I need to get home. I've err… got a case I need to work on."

Ken gave me his best 'I-know-you're-lying' face and grabbed his keys. "Hey Pat, finish your story over the phone tomorrow, I have to see off the ace attorney."

Finally, we were getting out of here. I punched the button on the elevator door, but nothing budged. "Ken, the elevator's out."

"No, the elevator's just powered down for the night." He slipped a card into a slot and the button lit up. "I'll just disturb it for a second."

The elevator bumped its way down and opened. We stepped in and I gleefully pushed the 'Floor 1' button.

"So, how'd you like tonight?" Ken looked over to me, reminding me how pitiful he looked in detention a week ago; black hair laying everywhere and dark shadows in his eyes. Not now, of course, with his hair smartly slicked back and wearing his best striped vest.

"Earth to Gordon." He snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Answer please."

"Uh, fine. It was fine." It was horrible. I was incredibly hungry and tired, my suit was stained and scratchy, and I was in the most irritable of moods.

"Y'know, I owed you for getting me off the hook a week ago. I thought this would be sufficient payback."

_Did I really make you suffer this much?_

"Yeah, thanks. I had a great time tonight."

"No you didn't, you hated it."

"With all my body, heart, and soul."

He laughed. "Sorry, I thought we'd be treated to decent food at least."

I leaned my head sleepily against the elevator wall. "Ken, when I was out looking for a restroom, I ran into someone."

"A client for tonight's 'big case' I hope."

"It was that guy, uh, Sid Herms."

"Really?" The elevator came to a dead halt. I peeled my face from the wall and followed Ken out to his car.

"He was all nervous or something, he practically sprinted away when he saw me."

Ken ignited the engine and backed out of the enormous parking lot. "Guy probably had too much to drink."

"That's what I said. You bring my coffee mug with you?"

"I thought it put you to sleep."

"Exactly."

He handed me the mug, it still had the brown spill spot on it. I took a sip and laid back the car seat.

"You better be awake when we get back to your place. I'm not carrying you to bed."

I snored in response.

--

I awoke in my bed with a note taped on my forehead bearing the message 'You Owe Me'. I stood up and stretched my arms. I staggered to the living room, grabbed a box of cereal, and poured the pitiful remains into my open mouth. I switched on the television; the news was on in place of my usual morning sitcom. Something big must have happened.

"Multi-billionaire Sid Herms was murdered this morning. The authorities aren't telling us exactly how he died, but it seems apparent that he was thrown out of his office window on the 30th floor, if the camera could just zoom up to the window we could get a good look at it…"

The window was shattered with broken shards of glass sticking out awkwardly in all directions. Just passing through all of that glass could be enough to kill a person.

"We hear the body of the victim has yet to be removed from the pavement of the Herms Co. Building, but the police are persistent in keeping everyone away from the murder scene."

Herms, didn't I just see that guy last night? I turned off my television. The immediate thought that ran through my mind was worry of being a suspect. Before I could officially panic, my cell phone buzzed.

"H-hello, Gordon Truth speaking."

"Gordon! Did you see the news?"

The voice was feminine; unfamiliar at first. "Who is this?"

"You forget about me already? Thanks a lot."

I winced as the realization settled in, little sister alert. "Sorry Clara…"

"I decided to come see you after hearing about your first case. I was staying at the Bayside hotel when I heard the news, how awful! Don't you live, like, a few miles from there?"

"Um, I guess?" I scratched my head and looked down at my t-shirt; I should change.

"So, you gonna defend this guy?"

"What?" I dropped the phone on my bed as I stuffed on a sweater and some decent jeans.

"Are you defending the guy they say killed him?"

"Are you crazy?" I picked the phone back up. "I only won a single case, and it was probably just dumb luck. Besides, this isn't any old murder case; the victim is the richest man in New York City…"

"I was just kidding dummy." Even though I couldn't see her, I knew she was sticking her tongue out at me. "Even I know you're the worst attorney in the world."

"Ha, ha. My sides are splitting."

Suddenly, my phone rumbled again. "Hold on a minute, I'm getting another call." I quickly switched lines. "Hello, you've reached Gordon Truth…"

"Gordon Truth, you are requested to come to the Detention Center to defend the suspect of the Sid Herms case. Please come by today if you can manage it."

The dial-tone began to buzz. I switched lines back to my sister.

"Who was it?"

"Get me some orange coffee on your way; I'll be needing all the sleep I can get."


	2. Chapter 2

Hey Everybody! I'm kindof a new author, and I've put my HEART and SOUL into the Gordon Truth story arc. Oh, one thing, since this is the second case in the series, you should go and read the first case; Gordon Truth: A New Turnabout (you can get there from my profile). I know it kind of sucks that there's only one story arc split into different stories, but just deal okay? These are VERY long cases.

Oh, and if you could, please review! I only got 1 review for the first case, ONE!!

IONIC OUT!

--

The detention center was cold and gray, depressing to anyone walking into its dreaded halls. I was walking in a bit of a trance. Certainly, this was a mistake. Nobody would call on me to defend them in this sort of case. I pushed open the door and took a seat, trying as hard as I could to hide my sweat.

"H-hello?" Came the voice on the other side.

"Good afternoon." I placed my manila folder on the desk in front of me. "I am Gordon Truth, at your service."

The suspect's green eyes met mine. "G-good afternoon, my name is Doug Grave." He was an extraordinarily thin and nervous looking man, at about six and a half feet tall. He wore a white business undershirt with an ugly tie, and his brown hair had been shaved recently; though you could tell by the distinct fuzz that he was balding. He had a large bottom lip that stuck out frequently, giving him a pitiful appearance.

I coughed, "I got a call earlier today…"

"Yes, I know," he chewed on his bottom lip. "I requested you."

"May I ask; if you don't mind, I'm just curious; just how you were able to reach me?"

He dug in his pockets, pulled out a plain white business card, and slapped it onto the glass. It was one of mine, but I had no recollection of giving him one of my cards.

"Who gave this to you sir?"

"It was that charming young Mr. Cline. He was bragging during dinner about how you defended him in court a week ago and telling everyone how good you were. He slipped everyone one of your cards." He tugged at his tie. "And now I think I need an attorney… err, so I got the detention center to give you a call…"

"Oh, I see." _That idiot, those weren't ready to go out yet._

"So, the trial is in two days, do you think you could, err, represent me?" He was tugging at his tie so much I was surprised it had yet to rip off.

I looked down to the desk, hiding my face with my long hair. "Sir, you of all people should be aware of the intensity of this case. You are suspected of killing the richest man in New York. I assure you, the strength of the prosecution will be the greatest the country has to offer. You should know that I am not your best option, but," I looked up to my newest client, "if you have nowhere else to go, I will fight to the death for your complete acquittal."

"You w-will?" Doug twisted his tie in an attempt to stifle his tears. "T-thank you!"

"Now listen to me, this is very important. You must tell me everything. Why you are the suspect, everything down to the last detail of what you were doing during the murder, and anything you currently know about it. Please, I'm all ears."

"Well, um, where do I begin?"

"Let's start with what happened that night. What were you doing?"

"Well, um," He tugged at his tie again, "I was cleaning the office. I spilled coffee on some desks and the papers got wet…" He chewed on his bottom lip. "My boss got mad at me and told me to stay to clean up the mess." He chocked back a sob.

I took out a notepad, "And your boss is-?"

"Oh, Sid Herms. It was after the office party, everyone was starting to leave when I spilt the coffee." He stretched the tie sideways. "I-I, was mad. I screamed at him, and he really got mad then. He… he…"

"Yes?"

His voice cracked and he buried his face in his hands. "He docked me a month's pay! How does he expect me to feed my wife and kids? I just show up for a month and do my work for nothing? Why didn't he just fire me!? I-I, was so angry I was shaking…"

A huge mental red flag flashed in my head; this testimony was starting to sound like a confession.

He read the expression on my face. "No! No! I didn't kill anybody! I-I…" He made a high-pitched whining sound and hunched over onto his desk. He came back up to face me with red, wet eyes. "I went out into a hallway after he shouted at me. I went to use the payphone to tell my wife that I would be home late. I came back into the office and… and… I-I…"

He looked shocked, as if he had just remembered something horrifying.

"Doug, what did you see? … Doug? Doug! DOUG!"

He was swaying left and right, holding his ears shut with both hands. He was muttering and screaming muffled cries and chewing the hell out of his bottom lip.

I flicked on the emergency button on my side of the glass wall, a red light glowed through a small bulb, and the speaker in the wall turned on. "Emergency! Doug Grave is having... some sort of… meltdown! Holding Cell, uh, thirteen! Call the ambulance, he's having a seizure!"

Doug throttled his tie in an upward arc and began to scream bloody murder. He fell out of his chair, and on his way down, he shouted with all his might…

"HE FELL THROUGH THE GREAT GLASS WINDOW!!"

--

"Long time no see Gordon Truth."

I looked up from the groceries in my hand to a very tall blond man standing in my apartment. He wore a clean, light-tan suit without a tie, just the buttons from his undershirt.

"He says he knows you!" My sister Clara popped out from behind him. "I let him in. But it's okay big brother, he hasn't stolen anything yet!" She narrowed her eyes and made a mock-stern face at our visitor, "I'm keeping my eyes on him!"

He laughed, his hair neatly swaying. He had the appearance of a blond prince you always saw in those animated movies. His hair parted down the middle in two large waves, bright blue eyes. The only thing that was missing was the over-the-top British accent.

I almost dropped my groceries. I quickly stacked them on the kitchen counter. "Clara, I didn't know you were here, I thought you were still at the hotel!"

"Oh, that." She turned her head to look at the ceiling, swaying her long brown hair. "I could only pay for one night," she smiled sweetly at me, "so I dropped by to see my big brother!" She ran to me and gave me a crushing hug.

"Not now! I still have my suit on!"

She winked, "You're such a buzz kill!" She suddenly turned to the groceries. "Oh wow! Did you buy those popsicles I like?" She ran to the bag and dug out a colorful package of Cream Frosties. "You did! You're the best brother in the world!" She ran by me, giving me a quick peck on the check, and dashed into the guest room.

I turned to my guest. "I'm guessing you're Mike Angelo?"

He laughed again, "That I am."

We shook hands; he then grabbed mine and thrust his shoulder into my own. I fell over backwards onto the couch and he burst out laughing.

"What, you forgot our secret handshake?"

I stood and rubbed my sore shoulder. "Yeah, it's definitely you."

"What are you sounding so macabre for? Can't I get a 'thank you' for setting you up with the Ken Cline case?"

"Well, you sounded so… serious over the phone that time."

He frowned, "Our friend was in trouble, how could I crack a joke then?" He reached his hand out again, waiting. "Well?"

I hesitated, I then grabbed his hand and we both butted out shoulders together. I couldn't help but smile.

"That's more like it."

I laughed and rubbed the back of my head. "So, what's with the sudden visit?"

We both took a seat on the couch. "Well, I thought I should congratulate you on your victory last week with Ken Cline's case. But, then I changed my mind."

"Huh? But you're here aren't you?" I took a glass of water from the table in front of us and sipped a bit of it.

"Yes, I am here, but for another reason." He closed his eyes and faced away from me, his smile disappearing. "I'm here because I got a call from the Detention Center today."

I chocked on my water and almost did a spit-take. "What? Why?"

"Well, at first it wasn't a surprise. I always get calls from the head of the Detention Center about cases that I'm assigned to. But what I wasn't expecting was a mention of your name." He looked me in the eye. "He told me you were defending the suspect for the murder of Sid Herms."

I wiped my mouth with my sleeve. "Yeah, I am."

"I was asked to prosecute this case."

"Oh," I hunched over to stare at the table. "So you're-?"

"No I'm not." He put his hand on my back. "As soon as I heard you were defending, I backed out."

"Wha-… Why?"

"Because…" He looked at the ceiling. "I wanted you to have a chance."

I realized to my discomfort that he wasn't joking.

"Gordon!"

I turned to see my sister storm out of her room and up to the couch.

"You got the wrong flavor! You got blueberry!" She pointed to the blue popsicle she was holding. "I HATE BLUEBERRY!"

Mike and I looked at each other with wild faces. "Should we run?" he whispered.

"Don't count it out." I whispered back. "Um… Clare-bear? Are you wearing a flower in your hair?"

"Oh this?" She immediately smiled and fiddled with the bright yellow flower on her ear. "It's a daffodil. Did you know I wear a different flower for each day of the week? Tomorrow, I'm wearing an orchid!"

"Oh," I said, my mouth glued to a wide and toothy smile. "That's nice…"

She looked away and tapped her check with the blue popsicle. "Wait, I was going to do something. What was I going to do? Hmm… oh well." She licked the popsicle in her hand. "Hey, this is good! What flavor is it?" Then, without looking for an answer, she headed back toward her room.

Mike and I sighed. "Well, good luck." He said, smiling. "You're going to need it."

"Yeah, I was just about to check out the crime scene…"

"Good idea, you do that." He stretched his hands above his hands and yawned. "Well, I have to be off. Wife and kids won't feed themselves. Well, they can, but they can't pay for it. I'll see you later Gordon."

"Yeah," I mumbled, "-'later."

As my best friend made his way toward the door, I turned over and laid down on the couch. What had I gotten myself into?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sleek pair of sunglasses on the cabinet near where Mike was sitting. I picked them up, they had deep-dark red lenses and the material was cooling to the touch.

"Hey Mike, I think you left this…"

But he was already long gone.

--

I had almost forgotten about Terry Scours.

His balding head was among the few on the 30th floor of the Herms Co. building. He was wearing cheap clear-plastic gloves and holding a magnifying glass in his right hand. I tapped the top of his head and whispered, "You finish my homework yet?"

"Waah!" He spun around and almost fell over. "I'llhaveitafterlunchIpromise!!"

He breathed in and out for a few moments. He stood up straight and held his clipboard to his chest. "You're a dick, Gordon."

"Oh," I walked up slowly to him, menacing him with my glare. "You've been waiting five whole years to tell me that, haven't you, 'Scurry'? Wanna say that again to my face?"

He swallowed. "Please don't call me that Gordon… I didn't mean it…"

I turned and shoved him lightly with my right hand. "Hey, forget it. I was just messin' with you."

"R-really?"

"Sure, whatever." I glared at him again. "But if you call me that again, I WILL punch you."

"Y-you can't do that Gordon." He hurriedly turned back to whatever it was he was examining. "Maybe you could have done that in school, but it's different out here in the real world. We have laws, we have… lawsuits."

"And, we also have murders." I leaned against the wall of the office. Computers and desks were strewn everywhere. Papers lined the floor, and half-full balloons were floating all over the place. I was displeased to see the familiar apricot-colored walls again, but this time I was ready for them. "I was hoping you could tell me a few things about what we've got going on in here."

Terry adjusted his glasses. "Are you the defending attorney?"

"What does it matter? I asked a question," I walked toward him, "am I going to get an answer?"

He looked up at me. "Are you trying to intimidate me?"

"No, what gave you that idea?" I sat on one of the desks and knocked down a few papers.

"AHH! DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING!!" Terry dove for the papers and scurried around picking them up. I laughed.

"So, what have we got here?"

Terry placed all of the papers back on the table and sighed. "See that open door over there?" He pointed to my left.

I nodded, "Yeah?"

"That's Sid Herms' office. That's where he was killed."

"Really? I thought he was thrown out the window."

"Well, kind of. He was killed in his office and then he was thrown out of his office window."

I looked inside the room. The window made up the entire wall. The only glass in the window were shards in the corners, the entire center was shattered away. Terry snapped a photo of the crime scene. "That's going to be evidence for next week's trial."

There were definite signs of a struggle. Papers were scattered everywhere and desk items were on the floor. There wasn't anything that stuck out as especially odd though.

Terry's instant Polaroid printed out the picture he took. He handed it to me. "You'll need to add this to your records."

I slipped it in my pocket. "Anything else I need?"

"Yes actually." He handed me the autopsy report and another paper with a picture of a knife on it; presumably the murder weapon.

"Did you check the payphone in the hallway for prints?"

He gave me a strange look. "Why would I do that?"

I stood, "My client told me that he used the phone to call his wife. If that's true, then his prints should be on it."

"Y'know, even if his prints are on it, that won't prove anything."

"I know; I'll just feel better about it." I put the two documents in my back pocket. Suddenly, I felt the cool material of the glasses Mike had left at my apartment earlier. Intrigued, I slipped them out of my pocket and unfolded them. They looked comfortable…

"Umm, Gordon? What are you doing?"

I smiled at him. "Gotta look pretty." I slipped them on.

The entire room looked a bit darker. "These are nice." I suddenly felt dizzy. I held my head and staggered.

"Gordon, are you okay? Gordon?"

Everything went negative. My vision was blurred, and my eyes felt like they were bugging out of my head. In the room, I saw a small puddle of flashing red. My vision zoomed in on it. I was so dizzy…

I collapsed on the floor.

"Gordon! Wake up!"

I was still wearing the glasses. My vision went negative again, but this time I pulled them off before I became dizzy. I pushed myself up and slipped the glasses back into my pocket.

"That didn't feel too good."

"Gordon? Should I call an ambulance?"

I grabbed the wall for support. "Naw, I just got a little… overwhelmed. I'm fine."

"Gordon, I really think…"

"Really? You do?" I turned to him and glared. "Well, you must be so surprised right now. I'll leave you alone so you can celebrate."

I walked out the door and closed it to a crack. "See you later 'Scurry'."

Terry made an obscene gesture with his hand as I shut the door.

--

_  
"You're going to do great as usual Gordon, don't let down the name of Truth and Bell Law Offices."_

"It's just too bad you can't make it."

"_Sorry, it's the damned New York Mob, or NYM as we're calling it now. We're following a few leads, and some people need me to defend them from suspicion. They're all guilty if you ask me. It's very strange though, they call themselves a mob, but they act more like terrorists..."_

"Well, good luck."

"_Oh, I almost forgot. Did you know Ian Vice is prosecuting again today?"_

"Oh really?"

"_Yeah, so maybe NYM has something to do with this case if that idiot is involved. I have to go. Good luck."_

"See you later."

I clicked off my cell phone and dropped it back in my pocket. My sister held my arm tight to her chest. "Are you sure I can watch from the defense bench?"

I looked into the precious face of my seventeen-year-old sister. "It's fine, as long as you don't talk unless spoken to."

She smiled. "Okay."

The doors to the courtroom opened and the bailiff stepped into the room.

"It's time."

I nodded and stood. My sister kept my arm close as we started toward one of the biggest cases in history.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey everyone! Thanks to all of you that read and review my work-in-progress! That's right, both of you.  
These trial parts are always my favorite part of the series. I try to end these little 'breaks' in the story with a evidence cliffhanger. You might have noticed it in the first case, and if you can guess what the evidence needed at the end of this chapter is (rather obvious this time), I'll give you a... uh... virtual cookie. That's it.

I love writing this story, and it's really ratcheting up to something incredible! But contradictions are everything, and if my logic fails, then my entire story falls apart. If there are any problems with the trials, evidence, or behavior of the characters (if it seems like I'm puppetearing them in order for the story to work), please, tell me so so I can fix the problem.

Anyway, have fun! And try to guess the evidence! (It's kind of like the real Ace attorney games that way)!

--

"This court will now come to order."

It was my second time in court, yet I still shivered as the crack of the gavel rang out in the narrow halls. The audience was much more attentive and crowded this time around, and I could see the many sketch artists scribbling furiously on their notebook-easels. The judge was the same who presided over my last case, his ridiculously wild white beard still unshaven.

"H-how are you?"

I turned to my client sitting next to me. "I'm fine. How are you?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he uttered a cry and laid his head on the desk. I rolled my eyes.

"The trial for Doug Graves, accused of murder, is now in session. Are the defense and prosecution ready?"

I stood, prepared for anything. "The defense is ready, your honor."

"It's good to see you again Mr. Truth, I know how much pressure you must be facing, and for someone with your limited experience… I, wish you luck today. You're going to need it."

A rare comment from the judge, "uh, thank you your honor. I really appreciate your concern."

"The prosecution is ready, and in no need of a consolation pep-talk." Ian smiled deviously, as hyena-like as ever. He was wearing his black and grey striped vest with a black tie, different from the plain grey suit he wore last time. The vest and short-sleeve combination somehow made him seem more… vicious.

The gavel slammed down again. "Very well, I'm sure we're all anxious to start the trial; Mr. Vice, your opening statement please."

Ian nodded, "Of course your honor." He smiled widely; I was beginning to think he plainly forgot about his defeat just a few weeks ago. "Last week, on July13th, Mr. Sid Herms was killed in his very own office with his very own weapon. After he was murdered, his body was thrown out of his office window, thirty stories high. The prosecution will provide solid evidence and testimony that will prove that the defendant, and only the defendant, could have done the deed."

My client whined again; thankfully, it wasn't too loud.

The judge nodded. "You sound confident as always, and I hope you don't again need an additional ten minutes to prepare as you did last time."

"Of course not your honor, the difference between that case and this one is; simply, that this time the defendant is guilty without a doubt."

"Very well, is there anything you'd like to present before you call your first witness?"

"Yes, there is. I'm sure the court would like to know more about the murder weapon. The weapon actually belonged to the victim. He had a collection of valuable melee weapons on display in his office in a glass case hung on his wall."

Funny, I didn't remember seeing that when I went to look at the crime scene. Then again, I only looked through the door, which was admittedly pretty stupid, so the case must have been behind the upturned desk, on the wall next to where Sid Herms would sit.

"It's certainly strange to have weapons on display in an office, especially in something as fragile as a glass case." The judge said.

"There's an easy explanation for it, your honor." Ian pointed to a diagram of the crime scene on his desk. "Sid Herms liked to intimidate his employees. Perhaps his purpose to keeping a display of weapons in the room, right next to where he would be sitting, would be to scare anyone he called into his office. I'd be scared too, if I had to listen to my employer shout at me while a case of deadly melee weapons sat right next to him."

"Well," the judge seemed nervous at the thought, "I guess that would be a good enough reason."

"Wait a minute…" I stood up. "The case of weapons was next to where Sid Herms would sit? Wouldn't that make it hard for anyone sitting opposite him to get a weapon from the case without immediately alerting the victim?"

"Hmm…" The judge looked at the ceiling in thought, "That's a good point. How would it be possible?"

Ian chuckled. "The answer is simple, your honor, the victim was taken by surprise. But now is not the time for testimony, let us now address the autopsy report." He placed a manila folder on his desk and pulled out a few documents. "The approximate time of death was 3:00 in the morning. The cause of death was loss of blood from a knife stab to the chest. Also, here is the weapon in question."

He placed a plastic bag on the desk. Inside was an impressive-looking knife. It had jewels incrusted in the handle and the blade looked like it should gleam like a mirror; that is if it wasn't currently covered in blood.

"This does look rather valuable." The judge said.

Ian smiled. "It is; it's too bad the defendant soiled it so. It would have fetched a decent price on the market."

The judge cleared his throat. "Well, I've seen the evidence so far, but I've yet to see how suspicion was cast on the defendant. Perhaps, there were fingerprints on the murder weapon?"

Ian vice shook his head. "No your honor, there are no readable fingerprints. There are, however, smudge marks that point to the defendant using gloves…"

I was ready for this one. I clenched the document I had Terry send me a few hours ago.

"OBJECTION!"

The judge looked surprised. "Mr. Truth, it seems rather early to begin objecting, please explain yourself."

"It's simple, your honor. There was no way my client was wearing gloves that night! And I have proof!"

"Interesting," the judge nodded to me, "please go on."

"My client told me that he went out into a nearby hallway to call his wife to report that he would be coming home late. I had the phone in question dusted for prints, and sure enough, the fingerprints of Doug Grave showed up on both the phone and dial-pad!"

"Really? And what does that prove, attorney?" Ian smiled at me from across the courtroom.

I shook my head. "You of all people should know where I'm going with this. Mr. Grave didn't have gloves with him at the time because he left his fingerprints all over the payphone!"

"Objection, Mr. Attorney; that is not acceptable as an explanation."

"W-what? Why would that be?" I pounded the desk and began to sweat.

Ian shrugged. "For a variety of reasons. First, he could have put on the gloves right before he murdered the victim. Second, I'd find it a little awkward trying to push little buttons on a payphone with gloves on; he could have simply removed his gloves to use the phone for comfort reasons. Is that enough, or would you like me to continue?"

I sat down; I was so sure that would help my case… "No, the defense sees the prosecution's point…"

"What?" My client whispered to me. "You can't just back down now!"

"There's nothing I can do right now, Mr. Grave. Now, we wait for the witness to testify," I cracked my knuckles, "and that, I'm ready for."

Ian shook his head and addressed the judge. "Back to what you were saying before we were interrupted by Mr. Attorney. I know the evidence so far seems… lacking, but we have yet to turn our attention to two very important ingredients. Those ingredients are, motive and testimony. Allow me to explain the former." He closed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Apparently, Sid Herms himself docked Mr. Grave a month's pay for clumsy actions in the workplace and talking back to a superior. That night, during a birthday celebration on the thirtieth floor, the defendant spilled coffee on important work documents. When confronted by Sid Herms, the defendant threw a tantrum. The victim punished Mr. Grave by not paying him for the next month. The defendant, angry and without proper judgment, proceeded to enter Mr. Herms private office, taking the victim by surprise, and stabbing him in the chest with his own knife. I'm sure this provides enough motive?"

The judge nodded, "Quite. I believe the only thing left to do is hear some testimony, and then I may be ready to pass my verdict."

I gulped. So far, things weren't looking good.

The gavel swung down. "The prosecution may call its first witness."

Ian nodded and smiled. "The prosecution calls Holly Wreath to the stand."

A very attractive woman in a blue business-suit stood up and took her place on the stand. She looked out at the audience and winked a few times at some of the sketcher's. She had blond hair and blue eyes, and she grasped a pretty little blue purse in both hands. Her entire demeanor reeked of the word 'cute'.

The judge cleared his throat. "Since this was a rather important feature of our last trial, I'd like to stress how important it is for the witness to give their name and correct occupation."

"My name is Holly Wreath, and I'm the secretary for Sid Herms, the richest man in America." she placed her purse on the witness' desk and took out some lipstick.

"Ms. Wreath is a very important witness," Ian hunched over his desk, "I have entrusted the case to her testimony, which will reveal to the court the entire truth of this case."

The judge nodded. "This does appear rather vital. Witness, please begin your testimony."

"Of course, your honor," she smiled and did a small curtsy. She turned to address the audience. "I had gone home that night around ten o'clock. When I got undressed to go to bed, I realized I had left my cell phone at my secretary desk. So I got dressed and drove back to the building, rode an elevator to the thirtieth floor and went to my desk to retrieve my phone. That's when I saw him, the guy sitting right there!" She pointed at my client, who gave a small yelp. "He walked in Sid's office at 2:47, and I heard a scream! It was definitely him! He's the one who killed Sid!"

"Very interesting," said the judge, "so you saw the defendant go into the victim's office, the scene of the crime, near the approximate time of death, and you even heard the victim scream. That was indeed a decisive testimony. One thing though, why are you so precise about the time of death?"

"Oh, my cell phone." She pulled a pink phone out of her purse for the court to see. "I had just found it on my desk, I quickly flipped it open to check if the batteries were still running, and the time was displayed right on the screen."

"That seems convenient; very well, the defense may now proceed with the cross-examination."

I stood up. "Yes it will." The first cross-examination of the trial, and I was ready for it. I made sure my tie was straight and came closer to the witness bench.

"Ms. Wreath, isn't it strange that you'd go home at ten o'clock? I mean, you employer was having a birthday party on the thirtieth floor, why wouldn't you stay?"

The witness smirked at me. "Oh, you can ask anyone who works there, and they'll tell you that Sid was always a bit of an ass." She flicked her hand playfully and grinned. "He was constantly yelling at someone, and it was usually me. I mean, I was his secretary after all, who else did he have? Anyway, I didn't feel like staying when I knew that so many things could go wrong, so I decided to go home."

"You felt threatened by your employer, so you took off at the end of your shift." Ian stood up straight. "Perfectly normal; any problems with you, attorney?"

Nothing so far. I turned back to the witness. "How do we know that you really did go back to the Sid Herms building that night?"

"Umm…" she tapped her head with a pen. "I guess I can't prove it, but I really did go. I'm sure I'm on some security camera or something."

"Incidentally," Ian touched his right knuckle to his forehead, "There is a security camera at the front of the building that runs after-hours. We can say for certain that the witness entered the building at around 2:30 that night, proven by the video."

_Too bad for attacking the witness' credibility._

I recalled how I left the building and remembered that the elevator did not respond when I punched the button. "Mam, are the elevators shut off after business hours?"

"Oh, yes they are."

"If that's the case, then how were you able to go up to the 30th floor that night, unless you took the stairs?"

"With this." She pulled a blue card out of her purse. "See this? This is the Herms' building official card key." She turned her head and watched me from the corners of her eyes with a smile on her face. "I can come and go as I please anywhere in the building with this card, even Sid's office if I wanted, and that includes operating the elevators." She chuckled to herself. "To get one of these cards, you have to more than the average worker. You have to be a janitor, a close friend of Sid, a member of the committee, or me; the secretary. But then again, only Sid's and mine are special!"

"Umm…" I itched the back of my head. "And why would you call your key card 'special', Ms. Wreath?"

"What? They're blue!" She said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Many audience members seemed to agree with her.

I yawned. "Anyway, are you entirely sure that you saw my client, Mr. Graves, enter Mr. Herms' office a that time?"

"Of course! It was more than obvious! He didn't appear to see me, he seemed focused on something, but I got a really good look at him from my desk. Unless he has a twin brother, you couldn't persuade me otherwise." She winked and grinned.

_That's pretty strong testimony. However, there was no possible way for Mr. Grave to get into Sid Herms' office, and I have the evidence to prove it!_


	4. Chapter 4

Hey everyone

Hey everyone! Ioniclunch here again. Did you choose the card key? If you did, you were right! Read on, and try to guess what the next contradicting evidence is! (I know this one is really short, I just like making you all guess!)

--

"Recall the witness' testimony. She states that her card-key allows her access to anywhere in the Herms' Building." I smiled, "she also said that in order to be in possession of these cards, you'd have to be a janitor, a member of the committee, or the secretary." I spun my head to the witness. "Tell me Ms. Wreath, what position does my client hold at the office?"

She was sweating; she knew where I was going, "I-I think he was primarily one of his accountants…"

I pointed to the witness. "I'd hardly call that more than the average worker! Ms. Wreath, would someone of my client's current position be assigned a card key?"

She bit her lip and looked away from me. "No, they wouldn't."

"Ergo!" I punched my desk. "My client couldn't go into Sid Herms' private office, because he didn't have a card key!"

The audience whispered to one another, and people were nodding. That was a good sign, right?

"Well, I wasn't expecting a turn like this so early in the trial!" The judge slammed his gavel to quite the rustling crowd. "It appears that the defendant was incapable of even coming in contact with the victim!"

"Tsk, tsk, judge!" Ian held his knuckle to his temple. "Let the prosecution respond before giving the defense undeserved attention."

The judge blinked in surprise. "W-what? Mr. Vice, are you saying you can counter Mr. Truth's claim?"

Ian nodded, "Of course your honor. I had noticed this problem from the beginning of the investigation. Worried for my case, I had the good detective look through some security records. You see, the advantage of using card keys is that all access points keep a record of what card is used and when. I have a record of all the times someone opened the door to Sid Herms office from 2:30 to 3:30. At 2:43, it seems that Sid Herms himself opened the door to his private office, and…" He swung his right fist sideways down onto the table and brought it to his left ear; smirking. "He left it open."

"W-whaaaaaaaaaaaat?" I flinched backward, my right arm thrust in front of me as if to block an oncoming punch.

Ian leaned on his desk, drilling holes into my head, "One can only conclude that when the killer entered the office to murder Mr. Herms, he didn't even need a card key; because the door was left open!"

I lay my head on the table, with my arms draped across the desk to support a kind of cushion for it.

"Get up Gordon!"

I jerked up; my sister had hit me over the head with a popsicle. I almost jumped; I had forgotten she was there.

"So what if the door was left open? Gordon, you still have the rest of her testimony to tear apart!" She clenched her fists. "You're my brother, and my brother never gives up!"

I couldn't help but smile. "I-I guess." I leaned over my desk, _but her testimony so far is rock solid!_

The judge swung his mallet, "Mr. Truth, are we to believe that you wish to continue the cross-examination?"

I held my head, what was I going to do? I already swam through the entire testimony; there were no more contradictions!

"Hey Gordon," my sister tapped my shoulder, "remember what mom and dad used to tell us when we couldn't figure anything out?"

_Yeah, I remember… Don't think through; think raw, think crazy._

"She says she is a witness, but she really isn't." Clara smiled at me.

"H-how can you say that? Of course she's a witness!" I wiped at sweat gathering at my brow.

"Well, maybe, but she didn't witness the murder. At least, she didn't **see** it."

"See it…" The entire room around me seemed to darken, _She didn't see anything, but she did __**hear **__something!_

"You see Gordon? You're not cross-examining the right testimony. She didn't **see **the crime, she **heard **it!" She smiled at me again and began licking a blue popsicle.

I frowned. "Did you… bring the entire box of popsicles with you?"

"Yup." She closed her eyes and smiled sweetly at me. I blushed.

The judge blinked. "Mr. Truth?"

I pounded my desk, smiling. "The defense is finished with this cross examination."

"This is unexpected," Ian crossed his arms, "I thought you would cling to whatever straws you had left."

"That's where you're wrong." I pounded my desk again. "I'm going to cross-examine another testimony from the witness!" I pointed with my left hand at Holly Wreath, who appeared to flinch slightly.

"Objection!" Ian pointed back at me. "The witness has already given enough testimony! No further cross-examination is needed!"

"Objection! The witness cannot testify to the murder, because she was not an eyewitness!"

Ian began to sweat. "Then… how do you propose to fix that?"

I clenched my fists, "make the witness testify to what she heard! She didn't see the crime committed, but she claims to have heard it!"

"You mean," the judge shook his head, "she should testify as an **ear witness**?"

I pounded my desk, "Exactly!"

"The judge shook his head again. "I'm not sure I follow. Are there any objections on the prosecution's side?"

Ian hunched over his desk, one arm holding himself up, the other draped across his forehead. His smile was flickering. He appeared to notice his nervousness and straightened up. "Umm… no objections your honor."

"Very well," the judge slammed his gavel. "witness! Please testify to the court about what you heard that night when you saw the suspect go into the office."

"Umm, sure." She didn't look too good. She was sweating and her eyes were squinting as if she were enduring pain. She pulled some blush out of her purse and quickly applied it to her cheeks.

"I remember hearing someone scream, a bloodcurdling scream… I heard some small bumps, like someone was moving around in the office. That's all though, I didn't hear anything else. I mean, what else was there to hear?"

I pounded my desk. The entire court blacked out around me again as the gears turned in my head. If this testimony was an honest one… then there's a huge hole in this case. It didn't seem possible… but there was only one explanation. Let's start with the contradicting **evidence**, what contradicts her testimony; the murder weapon, the photo of the crime scene, the autopsy report, the defendant's fingerprints on the payphone, the glass case of weapons, the card key, the card key record for Sid Herms' office, or the witness' cell phone? Let's blow this testimony out of the water!


	5. Chapter 5

Welcome back to my little game! Let's just say that if you guessed the photo of the crime scene, YOU WERE CORRECT!!  
Enjoy the story, and there's another guess-the-evidence session at the end of this one (another really short one... I know)

--

"I'd like to bring the court's attention to this photo of the crime scene." I took out my manila folder and slipped the page out. Laying it on my desk, I stood up to address the court. "Let me ask the prosecution a question, a simple one. Mr. Vice, how was the victim killed?"

"Well, er…" He crossed his arms; he wasn't smiling. "The killer broke into his office, taking the victim by surprise." He brought out his own copy of the photo to help him follow along. "The killer then took a knife out of this glass case of weapons," he pointed to the broken case of weapons in the picture, "he then stabbed the victim, and the victim's body was then thrown out the window," he pointed to the large, broken window behind the desk, "thus, the shattered glass." He tapped his photo, pleased with himself. "Am I wrong about any of this?"

I smirked, "Not yet."

He raised his brow, "Eh? What was that?"

I stood, "witness, do you have a problem with our deduction?"

The witness was sweating; eyes darting around. She was intensely confused about something. "N-no, I guess not…"

"Well, you should!" I pounded my desk with my right fist; I didn't feel pain in it anymore. "I asked you about what you heard, and you testified that you only heard someone scream. Yet, you didn't say anything about hearing an entire glass window being shattered!"

"AHHHHHHHUGGGH!" She threw her purse flew into the air, raining down random makeup as her head drew back into a scream, a small bottle of nail polish emptied into her blond hair and on her face, muffling her screaming as she choked on it.

_Umm, dramatic much?_

"Mr. Truth, what does this mean?" The judge stared at me despite Ms. Wreath's gurgling.

"Erm, what?" I rubbed the back of my head.

"You were the one who pointed out the contradiction; you should be the one to explain it. Why did the witness not include the shattering glass in her testimony?"

The room darkened around me. Why did she not testify about the glass breaking?

She either didn't hear it, lied about not hearing it; she's deaf, and lied about the scream… As I went down the list, the possibilities became more and more ridiculous… I pushed my palms into my forehead; there had to be a reason! Then it dawned on me, I was simply overcomplicating it. _Don't think through; think raw, think crazy…_

I ran my hand through my hair. "Your honor, the witness," I nodded to the wailing mess on the stand, "… is telling the truth."

The judge blinked. "R-really?"

"Objection!" Ian swung his right hand to the desk, bringing it back to his left ear. "The witness must be mistaken! There is no reason for her to lie about the window; she simply must not have heard it!"

"That's impossible. The door to the office was open during the time; she should have been able to hear everything going on inside!" I slammed my fist into my desk, "especially a large window shattering!"

Ian flinched, his arms sailed sideways and his eyes opened wide.

"Anyway, as I was saying. The witness is telling the truth about what she heard! This is the only possibility that makes sense, but-"

"HOLD IT!"

Who said that? I quickly looked around the courtroom. The judge was blinking in surprise and Ian was sweating buckets. I turned to Clara, "What are you looking at?" She asked, "It wasn't me!" I turned to my client, who had somehow fallen asleep. Finally, I found the culprit; the witness had somehow gotten the nail polish out of her face, but now her hair was stained red. She clutched an eyeliner brush in one hand and a hair straightener in the other, each almost broken in half as she clutched them. Angry tears were pouring down the sides of her eyes, and her once straight blond hair now flew this way and that in frizzy tangles.

"I remember now!! Yeah, yeah! I remember hearing the window breaking! I-I just forgot momentarily!! Yeah, it was definitely the window shattering! I heard it right after the scream, and that was it!!"

The judge blinked, I blinked, even Ian Vice blinked.

"Are you… amending your testimony?" the judge asked when the initial shock wore off.

"Y-yeah! I am!" She was tearing her purse to shreds in her hands.

I smirked. "Sorry, but you have only dug yourself a deeper grave, Ms. Wreath. Now, not only am I **certain **that you didn't hear the glass break, but now I suspect you are hiding the fact that you didn't hear it, as if it may accuse you of murder!"

"Mr. Truth, are you accusing this girl of murder?" The judge furrowed his brow at me.

Once again, the courtroom seemed to darken around me. Did Ms. Wreath kill Sid Herms? She had a possible motive; she admitted that Mr. Herms was always unkind to her. She had an opportunity, it could have been her that slipped into the office…

No… it doesn't add up. Even I don't know why she would hide the fact that she didn't hear the window break.

"N-no, your honor. It doesn't appear to add up that way." I leaned over my desk, drilling holes into the witness. She might not be a murderer, but something told me she wasn't completely innocent.

"HOLD IT!" This time it was Ian Vice who spoke up. "Well, we seem to have gotten quite off track, haven't we? She amended her testimony, she claims that she did hear the window break. Well, any more questions for our little fallen angel? Or should I simply call her down from the stand?

This testimony was only a bogus cover-up. She was on her last leg, and she was hiding something, but what… and why? What did the window have to do with it? I had an idea, but now wasn't the time.

"Ms. Wreath. Are you absolutely certain that this was all you heard? The window breaking, the scream, and that was all?"

She squirmed, concentrating intensely, I felt like she wouldn't answer.

I raised my voice, "this is very important! Was this all you heard?"

"YES!" She screamed and the purse she was pulling at in her hands gave away to a large rip.

This was it. Two inconsistencies would ruin this witness' credibility. If she really did hear it all, she would have heard something else as well. Time for the truth to be revealed, and this evidence shows what else she should have heard!

(The autopsy report, the murder weapon, the witness' cell phone, the card key, the record of Sid Herms office door, the glass case of weapons, the pay-phone covered in the defendant's fingerprints, or the crime scene photo?)


	6. Chapter 6

Greetings one and all. If you chose the glass weapon case... YOU WERE CORRECT! This was my favorite chapter to write out of the entire series so far, and Gordon has some supernatural sunglasses! 00 Who knew?

Enjoy!

--

"You seem intent on making a fool of yourself, Ms. Wreath. It is more than obvious you didn't hear any window breaking."

"Did you hear what I just said? I said I heard the damn thing! Why is this so important?"

"You can't win against the truth, Ms. Wreath." _Wow, that was a good one; I'll have to write it down somewhere._

"W-what?"

"Ian Vice, tell me, was the window the only glass that was broken at the crime scene?"

Ian flinched. "N-no…"

I presented the picture of the weapon case. "Based on what we've deducted so far, this must have been broken during the crime as well as the window, and if I can guess right, you should have heard glass breaking _two _times, plus the scream."

The witness said nothing. She was staring at her shoes, mumbling. Then, suddenly…

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRR!!"

She tugged at her purse, ripping it in two; scattering any makeup still inside across the courtroom. She slumped over, her head resting on the witness desk. "Please… please stop…"

"I've caught you twice. You don't have much of a choice now but to confess the truth." I couldn't wipe the smug, wide smile off my face.

"I-I… didn't hear anything break. I did see the defendant walk into the office, and I did hear a scream… but that was all."

"Good, good. Only one more question." My smile changed into a smirk. "You seemed pretty determined to have us believe you did hear the window break. Care to explain?"

"I-I…" She covered her head with her arms. "I want to go now. I'm done, that's enough…"

I couldn't help but let a disappointed expression cross my face. I slipped my hand in my right pocket; she wasn't going to tell me why she tried so hard to cover her tracks. Damn it.

The mallet swung down, and the audience turned its attention to the judge. "This trial is far from over, it seems. But for now, I believe there is nothing more we can do with Ms. Wreath. The witness may step down."

The crowd was silent as the fallen angel made her way back into the witness lounge. The judge shook his head. "So, Mr. Truth, where does that leave us?"

My eyebrows perked up, I opened my eyes wide and looked up at the judge. "Hmm? Me?"

"There is a broken window and a broken weapons case at the scene of the crime, yet our witness has no recollection of hearing such a thing. What logical conclusion are you willing to put forth?"

I rubbed my chin. It was time for my theory to come out in the open. "The witness was telling the truth, much to her apparent dismay. The fact is that the window and weapon case were not broken during the "crime"."

"Funny." Ian Vice once again crossed his arms. "Why do you emphasize the word crime? Despite what we've learned from a personally untrustworthy witness, the fact still remains that your client was seen entering the office of the victim at the approximate time of death. We have proven a motive and opportunity for the committing of the crime. I still see no problem here, and, personally, I think we are all overreacting to what must be a case of the witness being simply hard-of-hearing."

I hesitated before speaking. "The defense stands by the fact that the window and glass case were not broken when Ms. Wreath saw my client go into the office. So this brings up two very different and important possibilities. One; the crime was committed before my client walked into the office…"

"Impossible," Ian spat.

"How do you know that?"

"I'll tell you, but finish your thought first, please." He massaged his temple with his knuckles. "I find this logic, or lack thereof; amusing."

I had a hard time keeping my mind off squashing Ian's face with my fist. "…Two; the scene of the crime… is not the office of Sid Herms."

The audience rumbled slightly. Ian chuckled to himself, but I saw glistening sweat on his brow. The mallet sounded to quiet the audience.

"How have you come to these conclusions?" The judge asked me.

"It's simple really. If the window wasn't broken while Ms. Wreath was there, it was broken either before or after, the same goes for the weapon case. The fact that when my client entered the office the only thing heard was a scream, coupled with the fact that neither the window nor the case of weapons was broken while my client was in the room, leads me to believe that at 2:47, there was no murder in Sid Herms' office."

The quiet was almost unbearable. After a few moments past, the gavel was once again sounded by the strong arm of the judge. "Well, it seems that we cannot go on with this trial. It has become obvious that further investigation is needed. I call on both parties to look deeper into this matter. And please, come back tomorrow with answers to these questions. When were the window and glass case broken? Was the scene of the crime really in Sid Herms' own office? I expect answers to these and more when we see each other again at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Court is dismissed."

'_Smack'_

--

"Big brother, you were amazing!" Clara jumped up and grabbed my neck, squeezing me into a kind of bear hug.

"Hey, lay off, will ya? I'm all sore from standing all day…".

She threw a blue popsicle at me, it landed rather unexpectedly in my hair, staining a part of it dark blue.

"I just remembered that I hate blueberry. So every time I get a blue popsicle, I'm going to throw it at you, 'kay?" She smiled so sweetly, all I could say was "'Kay" back. I pulled the sticky mess from my hair and threw it to the ground. It skidded over to a pair of worn black shoes. I looked up to see the face of my client, the first time I had seen him fully standing. He was at least an entire half-foot taller than me.

"Uh, erm… thanks for what you did in there. It, it was really moving…"

_Yeah, I could tell by how peacefully you slept through the entire thing._

I reached out and grabbed his hand. "I hope I did you proud, Mr. Grave."

He smiled and chewed on his bottom lip. He tugged at his tie and wiped his nose with his other hand.

A light suddenly clicked in my head. "Oh, I've been meaning to ask you."

"Hmm?" He hunched over.

"The witness testified that she saw you enter Sid Herms' office. … Is… is this true?"

"Erm… yeah." He tugged at his tie a little harder.

"If I may ask, why did you go in there?"

"Well… I…" he tugged harder at his tie. "I noticed it was open, and I had this weird feeling. It was kind of a scared feeling. I mean, he never leaves his door open. I walked in to see what was inside and… and I…"

I flinched, this was where he freaked out at the detention center.

He sniffed, "I saw everything… the window, the glass case… They were both broken. I was surprised, so I carefully walked to the window and… I peered down…" He suddenly gave a sharp cry. I hurriedly took a hold of his shoulders to keep him from fainting. He smiled at me. "It's okay. I'm fine." He wiped his nose again. "I-I saw… my boss. He was falling down, I saw him fall and… hit the ground. I screamed and I-I…" He suddenly grimaced, as if remembering physical pain.

I had the strangest sensation at that moment. I remembered the glasses I had found left behind at my office by Mike Angelo. I recalled putting them on in the building next to Terry; how they made me dizzy. I felt my back pocket and felt an odd, plastic bump. Yep, I had taken them without realizing it. I had the sudden urge to pull them out of my pocket…

"Gordon, what's with those glasses?" My sister came close to me to get a better look at the red-black lenses and smooth plastic of the rims as I carefully drew them out.

"I don't know," I said honestly.

Doug Grave looked confused, wondering why his lawyer was suddenly talking about a random pair of sunglasses.

In a state of empty-mindedness, I pushed the glasses onto my nose and over my eyes. A familiar feeling filled me up. My vision went negative, but somehow, I was ready for it this time.

"Big brother?"

"Shh… Give me a minute."

I waved my hand in front of my face. It was a black and white, a negative color scheme. I focused on my client, and my vision seemed to zoom into him. Suddenly, his entire face was so close up; I could see the pores on his neck. I tried to stay calm, but my knees were shaking.

"Mr. Truth, are you feeling alright?" He was sweating.

I studied him, my vision switched between an X-ray view of his skill and innards; and an outside vision of his clothes and skin. I had no idea what was going on, but it felt _incredible_. My vision was suddenly drawn to my client's right foot. I looked inside it to see that there was a blurry red mark stuck in his heel. I studied it closer, and I found a small shard of glass. He was bleeding a little, too. The injury was nowhere near severe, but it needed medical attention before it became infected…

_Wait, what am I doing? What am I thinking? Infected… shard of glass? Where are these images coming from?_

I zoomed out, my sixth sense apparently satisfied. I pushed the glasses onto my forehead.

"Say, Mr. Grave. Have you been feeling a sharp pain in your right heel?"

He froze. "How-? What?" He chewed on his lip. "Y-yeah… I have. It's been bugging me for about a week now…"

"It appears that you have a small shard of glass stuck in the heel of your foot. There is a little bleeding, so I would contact a doctor quickly."

"Umm… Thank you?" He looked as if he was watching a circus performer. "How did you-?"

"Don't ask, because I don't know the answer." I took off the glasses and slipped them back into my pocket. "Just get that foot looked at, you don't want it to become infected."

"O-okay."

Clara tugged at my suit, her face asking millions of questions. I felt like my face held the same expression. I needed to talk to Mike Angelo today and ask him what the _hell _was with his glasses.

I made a mental note of Doug's injury. I quickly wrote "Doug; shard of glass in foot" on my manila folder, then went to the payphone to call a taxi for my sister and I.


	7. Chapter 7

It's fun guessing evidence isn't it? Ah, but alas, every trial must come to an end. Enter the investigation period, where new evidence is gathered and new revelations are disclosed.

This chapter starts after the trial, Gordon has gone back to the crime scene to investigate... aaaaaaaaaaaand...

--

"What are you doing?"

Terry stared at me as I crossed the hall into Sid Herms' office. He ran in after me. "Hey! Do you have clearance to go in there?"

I turned, "I'm the defense attorney, I should be able to come and go to the crime scene as I please."

"But this place is under investigation, you could plant evidence or hide something, or…"

I shoved two fingers into his shoulder. "Hey, does that honestly sound like something I would do?"

He looked down, "Yes." He mumbled. I ignored his statement and studied the large desk behind me. Should I investigate it a little closer?

Terry came up behind me. "I'm keeping a close eye on you, don't try anything funny."

"Sure." I looked down to the desk. Papers were scattered everywhere, as expected. A small vase of flowers was on the floor, surprisingly in one piece. I looked through the drawers, one was left open. I reached into it and felt something.

"Aha! I bet this'll be interesting!" I wrapped my hand around the object and pulled it out. It was a rock.

"What?" I flipped it around in my hand. A perfectly normal, round stone.

"Sure, that's pretty interesting." Terry rolled his eyes.

"Well, that was stupid." I glanced at the rock, why would someone put a normal stone in a drawer? With a shrug, I slipped it into my pocket.

I looked at the glass case to my left, in contact with it for the first time. There was only one part of the case broken, near the center in front of an empty dagger stand. The murder weapon was most definitely taken from this display case. There were small glass shards inside it, so I wasn't about to stick my hand inside. I took another look out the shattered window. Down near the ground I saw a small platform tethered to a pulley at the top of the building. "Hey Terry, what's that thing?" I said, pointing to it.

He came near me and peered down to the floor. I felt his fear at the height, but he managed to straighten up. "That's just the window-washer pulley. They use it about once every six months."

"Hmm…" Devious thoughts began formulating in my mind. I quickly jotted down the window-washing platform in my manila folder.

I took one last sweep of the room, the 'crime scene'. Nothing else immediately came to mind.

Except…

I slipped the glasses out of my pocket and put them on, my vision instantly going negative.

"Hey, aren't those the glasses that made you faint the other day? Gordon?"

I gently pushed Terry out of the way; there were no red spots on him; so he was perfectly healthy. I remembered seeing a red blot near the window when I first put on the glasses yesterday. I turned to look and my vision zoomed in. The red stain was still there.

"Gordon? What are you looking at?"

I kneeled down to the small red pool only I could see. "Terry, there's blood here."

"W-what?" He hurried to where I was kneeling. He glanced at the floor. "I can't see anything!"

"That's because the blood soaked into the carpet. Terry, do you have a cue tip?"

He handed me one. "S-sure… here."

I swabbed the red stain with the cue tip. Some of the red on the carpet came off on the cue tip. I smiled. "Terry?"

"Y-yes?"

"Could you take this to the forensics' lab? I want this blood analyzed."

He rubbed his forehead. "But Gordon, I don't see any-"

"Trust me." I stood up and handed the cue tip to him. "Do you have something to keep this sterilized until you reach forensics?"

"Umm… s-sure." He took the cue tip from me and squinted at it. He took out something that looked like a sandwich bag and dropped it inside. "It'll take a while for the results to get back…"

"Actually, I have a favor to ask…" I took off the glasses and shoved them back into my pocket. "I seem to have used all of my cash on the trip here. Could I come with you to the lab?"

"W-what? Gordon, that's preposterous!"

"Do you really think I could mess with anything there? I don't know half there is to know about forensics. And besides, we're old friends; remember?"

"Gordon… I don't think…"

I grabbed his collar and touched nose-to-nose with him. "_Remember?_"

"Er… yeah."

I let go of him. "That's better."

--

I made Terry take the taxi to my office so we could pick up Clara, who called to complain about how bored she was. My sister made quick friends with the timid detective, surprisingly. As we made our way to the precinct, I could tell Terry was nervous, since I practically forced him to take me to the forensics lab. How would they take it?

Terry shelled out sixty bucks to the driver, and we headed inside the precinct.

"Hey Terry!" Someone shouted as we entered. "Who are those two?"

"F-friends." He twitched a nervous smile and waved in return.

"Hey, Teddy?" My Clara licked a red popsicle. "Are you sure we can come in here?"

He didn't respond, he only stared at me with an angry face. I managed a nervous laugh, "We're company, Clara. Mr. Scours is just being _very nice._"

"Yeah, that's right." He said bitterly.

We went deeper into the building, hallways started to become darker, more and more windows were tinted, and less personnel were visible at every turn. Terry approached a dark, sliding door to the side of one hallway. He held his finger to his lips, "Shh, don't make a sound."

Clara held my suit. "Are we even allowed to be here?"

Terry winced, "Actually, there's no rule against it. Let's just say that if word got out that a defense attorney was back here, there would be rumors of _shady dealings_."

Clara and I glanced at each other. "I just want to see the forensics on the cue tip." I was determined to prove to myself that these sunglasses were really letting me see things; I was too young to go insane.

He pulled the door open and walked in as we followed. It was a very dark room, from what I could tell. A simple computer lay on a desk on the side wall. Through a large one-way window, you could see a jungle of equipment and scientists in lab coats.

Terry went to the desk with the computer; he pressed a button on the keyboard and spoke into a microphone. "Ms. Judy Ryut, please come into the office."

I heart skipped a beat, did he just say Judy Ryut?

Sure enough, a curly-haired; gorgeous brunette walked through the door. I did a double take, it couldn't be.

"It's nice to see you, Gordy." She smiled at me.

I rubbed my eyes. "Judy? H-how-?"

Judy Ryut was my ex-girlfriend from high school. We were together for over a year and a half, and we were seriously considering marriage. But then…

"I'm glad that you've… pulled through all right…" I rubbed the side of my cheek.

"I managed it after a while in therapy," she smiled again, "are you here with Scurry?"

I laughed. "Glad you haven't forgotten his name."

Terry cleared his throat. "Anyway, we're here because Gordon is convinced that there is blood on this cue tip," He pulled the plastic bag from his pocket, "could you run a few tests on this?"

"Well, I can test something right now." She drew what looked like a tiny spray-brush from her coat pocket. She unsealed the bag and sprayed the cue tip with it. After a few seconds, the brush of the cue tip turned a dull pink. She put the spray back into her pocket. "Yep, there's dried blood on it."

Terry looked at me with a skeptical look. "Gordon, how did you know there was blood on the carpet? I didn't see anything!"

I placed my hands on his shoulders, "Whoa, calm down man. I'll try to tell you." I pulled the glasses out of my pocket. "See these? I don't know how but… when I put these on, I… I can see, well… **defects**."

Terry raised a brow underneath his thick glasses. "**Defects**?"

"Well, for example; if there was blood on your shirt, and you couldn't see it, if I put these glasses on, I'd be able to see it."

Judy nodded smugly. "I have glasses like that. When you spray luminal fluid on something and you put those on-"

"But that's the thing." I closed my fist, gripping the glasses tight. "I don't need luminal fluid. I can… just see it."

Judy, Terry, and even Clara began to look scared.

"B-but that's not all!" I started pacing around the office. "I can even… even see **through **people! Like, an X-ray! And, if anything is wrong with someone… and I put these on… I'll be able to see what's wrong with them! Like, like… I don't know what! I can't really describe it!"

The three in my presence were in a stunned silence. Judy was the first to speak. "So, you can, like **diagnose** people just by looking at them?"

I nodded. "I guess that's one way to put it."

She shook her head, as if in disbelief. "Wow, Gordon. You have a gift!"

I raised a brow. "You seem to be taking this well all of a sudden."

"No, it's a medical condition. A warping of the cornea in the eye, coupled with a very sensitive pre-frontal cortex…"

"What is she saying, Gordon?" Clara tugged at my suit.

Judy began walking around the office. "This is a condition called _morbus aspectus_. Or **Blood Vision**."

I held up my hands, "wait a minute, you're not telling me I have some sort of disease, are you?"

"Not quite, let me see you for a moment." She grasped my face with one hand and came close. She looked deep into my eyes.

"Care for a kiss?" I puckered my lips in her grasp.

She let go and backed away. "I can't tell by just looking at your eyes, but from what you described to me, you have the condition." At the sight of my open mouth, she added "and it's not a disease! It's the opposite. Some of the most famous doctors and surgeons have blood vision. You ever heard of BlackJack?"

"Umm, no?" I rubbed my face where she grabbed it.

"He was regarded as a miracle worker, he could bring someone back from the brink of death. Can I see those glasses?"

Without a beat, she took the glasses from my hand. "You say you can't use blood vision without these glasses?"

"I-I guess."

She studied the glasses. "That's funny. The lenses are bent all over the place, I mean, they're really curved in one section and flat in another. These glasses were **crafted**… by some sort of **Blood Vision Expert**." She handed them back to me. "You always were an interesting guy, Gordy. But I have to say, you always find new ways to surprise me."

There was a very long pause. Terry sat down in the only chair and rubbed his forehead. Clara looked like she was scared to touch me.

Judy walked to the door leading back to the forensics lab. "I'll um, do some more tests on this blood sample. We should be able to tell whose blood it is. I'll have the results ready as soon as they're done."

I stood frozen to the spot, staring blankly at the wall. In a way it kind of made sense, I was reminded of my last case;

"_I can see it as we speak! Your left hand is not made of flesh and bone! You have… A FAKE LEFT HAND!!_

I remembered the feeling. That was the last roadblock I ad to get through in order to win that case. But how did I know? Before I made my conclusion, I saw something happed to his hand. It appeared to throb unnaturally, and I think it may have even flashed _red_. That was how I knew, it was my **blood vision**.

"Oh, before I forget," Judy opened the door a crack and stuck her head through. "If you ever need to test anything, you're more than welcome to come here. We have all sorts of things, fingerprints, footprint analysis, all of that jazz. You'll be accepted like an old friend by us. Just drop by if you need something tested, okay?"

"Oh, uh, sure." I rubbed my head. The day's events were wearing on me, but the day still wasn't over. I still didn't have enough evidence. I'll need to do a little more investigation before the trial tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

Wow, this one is OVER 4000 WORDS!! This is the LONGEST chapter I've ever written! Sorry, but I needed a lot of time to finish the investigation phase! There's a bunch of evidence to gather.

Oh, and we'll see a return to the evidence-guessing next chapter! (Please be patient with this one, I know it's long, but it has A LOT of important information!

And, and what do you think of Gordon's Blood vision? I thought he needed some super-natural advantage like Phoenix's magatama and Apollo's bracelet. Now we have Blood-Vision Sunglasses!

Anyway, enjoy!

--

"_Hello?"_

"_Mike, is that you? God, I've been trying to reach you for hours!"_

"_Gordon? Hey, I heard you pulled through today's trial."_

"_Yeah, sure. Mike, when you came to visit, you left something here."_

"_What, I did?"_

"_Yeah, a pair of sunglasses, remember?"_

"… _Oh, I think so."_

"_Do you want them back?"_

"_Um, I'm not sure…"_

"_Mike, listen to me, these glasses are doing funky things to me. Every time I put them on, I… I can't explain right now. I just want to know, did you leave these at my apartment on purpose?"_

"_Heh, how did you know?"_

"_I knew it! Mike, why did you leave these glasses here?"_

"_I figured it out. I watched the footage of your first case, and you seemed to pick up on the fake hand pretty easily at the end. I left the glasses there to see if you really did have _the gift_."_

"_But why? What do these glasses do? I mean, I didn't…"_

"_They're enhancers. Someone with full, 100 blood vision sees the way you saw the world through those glasses all the time. Someone with only a fraction of the condition can only see with some sort of visual _enhancer_. Those glasses are one kind of enhancer."_

"_But Mike, these glasses were crafted by an expert. Where did you get them?"_

"_I picked them up at a medical office I have close friends at. Apparently, one of their experts had left the company and he left the glasses behind. They didn't tell me whose they were thought, that certain pair had been there for about forty years, and they didn't really have anyone else to give them to. So I made a deal, if I could find someone with the gift within the day, whoever I found would be able to keep the glasses. That person turned out to be you."_

"…_Well, I guess I have to thank you, Mike. I've already made some important discoveries with these that will help my case."_

"_I'm glad to hear it."_

"_But Mike?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Next time you want to test if I have some supernatural brain condition, just tell me first."_

I hung up and laid my cell phone on my nightstand. I crashed on the couch and drank a juice box from the refrigerator. Clara came and sat next to me, grabbed the remote, and began watching something on TV.

"So, do you have a theory so far?" Clara turned to look at me. "Do you know what really happened?"

I groaned, "no. I don't even have the slightest idea of who could have killed Mr. Herms." I finished the juice box and tossed it into the trash can.

"That's not good!" She threw a blue popsicle at me and clenched her fists. "If you don't have an explanation, you won't be able to back up your theory that the office wasn't the crime scene!"

I scratched the side of my head, picking up the popsicle with my other hand and putting it in my mouth. "I guess you're right. But, I'm all out of leads…"

"Well don't be!" She grabbed my hand and pulled me off the couch. "We're going back to the crime scene, to finish this once and for all!"

"As long as you're paying for the taxi ride."

--

The elevators were still in working order despite the murder. I remembered my last visit here, only a few hours ago. I had gathered a bit of evidence, like the window-washer platform and the pool of blood. There was also a rock in his desk, which I still had in my pocket. There were still police and detectives crawling all over the place.

"Hey, let's stop on the 17th floor."

"Huh?" I turned to my sister with an inquisitive look. "Why?"

She was smiling. "Isn't that where you were when the crime took place? I just want to make sure you couldn't have gone up to the 30th floor and killed Mr. Herms yourself."

"WHAT?" I jumped, "Why would you think something like that!? I DIDN'T KILL ANYBODY!!"

She laughed. "Of course not, silly. Actually, I just want to know where you were when the murder happened."

I shrugged. "Okay, if we have enough time, I might take you there. But let's investigate a bit more first."

--

Terry was nowhere to be seen and the door to the office was closed and blocked off by security tape.

"Well this is nice, I can't investigate anything."

"This really stinks. Now you definitely don't have a chance in court tomorrow!"

"Um, I'd appreciate it if you didn't smile when you tell me things I don't want to hear."

She tapped on the door, there was no answer. "Oh well, there's still time to check on the 17th floor! Let's go!"

I punched the button on the wall and the elevator came bumping up. Clara pushed the 17th floor button and the elevator took off.

"Say, Gordon."

"Yeah?"

"How long can I stay at your apartment?"

"What? Why would you ask that? You're always welcome for a visit."

"Well, that's the thing," she frowned, "I mean… can I stay… permanently."

"W-what? What do you mean permanently? What's going on at home?"

"Um, I got… kind of… kicked out of the house."

No one spoke a word until the elevator reached the 17th floor. As we got out, I said. "You can tell me about it if you want."

"Not now, maybe later."

"You're welcome to stay at my place as long as you want…"

She clasped her hads together and her eyes shined like stars. "Thank you so much, big brother!" She jumped up and hugged me around the neck.

"…as long as you pay half the rent."

"Um…" she tapped a popsicle against her chin and looked up. "I guess I could, I mean, I still run the flower shop down the street. We make some good money. But since it's your apartment, I think I should only pay a fourth of the rent."

We shook hands. "Done." Apparently, she hadn't picked up that it was a joke, but now I guess I had less to worry about at the end of each month.

I took her into the room me and Ken Cline were talking in about a week ago. To my surprise, I found a familiar man inside.

"Oh, hello." The man was chubby and wore a white business shirt. He had a rather large nose and a habit of twiddling his thumbs. He suddenly smiled when he got a look at my face. "Hey, you're that guy that came with Ken."

"Oh yeah, you're…" I pointed to him, but my mind drew a blank. This was that annoying person who never shut up while I was stuck in this room with him and Ken.

He pushed my finger aside. "Patrick Kantby; Patrick David Kantby to be more exact, but you can just call me Pat, or Dave."

"Well, Pat." I shook hands with him. "What are you doing here? I though nobody was allowed inside the building."

"Well, I have connections, and apparently, so do you."

"I guess you could say that." I took a seat in one of the chairs. "I'm the defense attorney for this case."

"Hah, so Ken wasn't lying, eh?" Suddenly, his cell phone buzzed. He flipped it and glanced at the screen. "Actually, that was Ken just now. He's my ride. He just said that we need to go."

I crossed my arms, "is he how you got up here?"

Pat shrugged, "yeah, actually. I mentioned I wanted to see inside the building, he just pulls up right next to it, starts a friendly conversation with the chief detective, and before I know it, I'm being led in by the hand!" He turned his head one way and smiled. "He's the most popular guy I've ever met. I mean, he has connections everywhere!"

"Actually, I need to ask a favor," if there was any way home besides the taxi, I was going to take it. "If you and Ken are leaving now, you mind if we tag along?" I pointed to my sister.

"Well, sure… I'm guess it'll be alright…"

"SHOTGUN!" I pumped my fist into the air. Both Clara and Pat stared at me like I was insane. I shrugged. "Hey, you never know when someone's going to call it, so why not get in the first shot?"

As we made our way back to the elevator, Clara and Pat made quick friends. The elevator was sitting there waiting for us, so it opened right after Clara pushed the down button. She and Pat got into the elevator, but I stayed frozen to the spot.

"Gordon, are you coming?" Clara asked. "The door's going to close and second…"

"Hold the door open."

She blinked, then focused on me. "What was that?"

"I said hold the damn door open."

She knew that I was dead serious. She quickly pushed the black bar inside the door to keep it from closing. I hurriedly put on the sunglasses, and I focused on the inside of the door. I had never seen anything like this before. There was some sort of red glow, but only tiny spots spread out in a large area. The red dots covered the inside of the elevator door, and some on the wall next to the door.

"What is it Gordon? Do you see blood?"

Pat backed away to the back of the elevator, apparently too freaked out to ask what was going on.

"I think I see blood, but only little specks. Like, someone tried to wipe it away."

"Can you get a sample of it?"

I walked up next the door and rubbed my finger on the metal of the elevator. "I really don't think so, there's so little to get a sample off."

I pulled out my manila folder and quickly wrote "blood residue on 17th floor in/next to elevator."

Clara looked from me to Pat, "Umm, Gordon. If you're done, we should probably get going."

"Yeah, right…" I stepped into the elevator. The blood residue never left my head on the long ride down.

--

Ken pulled up in his midnight blue corvette, rolling down the tinted window to wink at us. "Hey Gordon, how's it hanging?"

I waved and helped myself to the front seat while Clara and Pat made their way to the back. "So where we headed?"

"The forensics lab, as it turns out."

I raised my brow, "Really?"

"Yeah, I'm visiting a close friend, my girlfriend actually. She's been assigned to this case y'know."

"Hmm, you don't say." I slipped the seatbelt into the socket. "Anything I'd care to know?"

"Well, maybe later. She's actually got a hold of the something that has to do with the crime, says it's big evidence."

"You serious?" I couldn't stop the sudden intrigue from escaping my mouth.

Ken laughed. "Got your attention now, don't I? Of course, you won't hear anything from me." He turned to me and smiled. "You've been there today already, haven't you?"

"Yeah, found out some stuff, actually; maybe they have the results of that blood test…"

"Hmm?"

"Oh, it's a long story."

--

We surprised Terry, all four of us suddenly appearing into the same dark room in front of the forensics lab. He was seated at the computer, and as soon as we entered the room, he canceled out of whatever window he was in and spun his chair around, sweat dripping off his forehead.

"Relax man, it's just us." Ken took off his coat and threw it to Terry, who caught and stared at it like he had never seen one before.

"Umm, may I ask what you're doing here?"

Ken winked, "Just here to see someone special."

Terry snapped his attention to me, I rubbed the back of my head. "I'm just going along with the ride."

Pat sat on the floor near the corner, pulled out his cell phone, and began talking. Clara came up to me and grabbed hold of my suit.

"So Ken," I put my hands in my pockets, "who are you here to see?"

"You'll find out in just a second. She's almost to the door."

The door opened, and a beautiful brunette, curly haired woman jumped out and bear-hugged Ken.

"Hey Judy, how you been sweetheart?"

"Working." she said in a babyish voice, twirling her finger in Ken's long hair. She saw me behind him, "Oh, Gordon!" She laughed nervously and let go of Ken. She bounded up to me and shoved a plastic bag into my hands. "Here, we finished the tests on the blood sample you gave us."

I clutched the bag in both hands and squeezed them into my chest, mouth hanging open. "T-thank you…"

Clara pinched my shoulder. "What's wrong Gordon?"

I wiped at my eyes quickly with my sleeve. "Nothing, nothing's wrong."

Clara knew I was lying, but knew better to expose it. Wanting to distract myself as soon as possible, I reached into the plastic bag and withdrew the results.

"It says that the sample matched up with the DNA of… Doug Grave."

Clara tapped a yellow popsicle on her chin. "That doesn't make much sense. It was Sid Herms who was murdered, right?"

"Yeah… funny thing." I stared at Ken and Judy, they were hugging and whispering things to each other. They soon broke apart and Ken spoke up.

"How's the study on the murder weapon?"

Judy rolled her eyes. "I don't know why they're making us test it again. All we're doing is beating a dead horse, the blood is definitely the victim's, and we can't take fingerprints because the thing is covered in glove marks."

I stood in between them. "How would glove marks make it unable to take fingerprints?"

They were both surprised at my sudden intrusion. Judy brushed some hair behind her ear. "Well, let's say that there were fingerprints on a gun. If someone wearing gloves then used it, the fingerprints of the previous person would be blotted out, illegible. It's like wiping a window with a rag, it leaves wiping marks and blurs everything on the window." She put on her glasses "You get it?"

I rubbed my chin. "I guess… so everything on the murder weapon has, er, wiping marks on it?"

She nodded, "In a way, but there is **one fingerprint**."

I flinched, "R-really? Then what's all this talk about not being able to test it? Let's see who was using it!"

She laughed. "Calm down, Gordy. It's not that simple. Part of the fingerprint has been **wiped off**."

"W-wiped off? How is that possible?"

"Didn't you hear the little lady?" Ken tapped me on the shoulder and I turned to him. "She said the glove marks blot them out."

Judy nodded, a frown on her face. "Too bad we can't take one fourth of a fingerprint. It's impossible to accurately narrow down whose fingerprints they are with so little to take." She turned her head to one side. "Unless…"

My eyes lit up. "Unless what?"

"Unless we had another fingerprint to compare it to, if we had **the same fingerprint **on **something else**."

"So you're saying…" Ken walked up to his girlfriend, his hand grasping his chin. "If I could give you something with a fingerprint on it that happened to be the same fingerprint of whoever touched this knife first, you'd be able to match them?"

"Yes, that is our only possible method to see who left these prints."

Ken shrugged. "It's too bad nothing of the sort exists. We could take millions of items with fingerprints on them and not find a match."

Judy looked down-trodden. "Yeah, you're right. What was I thinking, it would be impossible to find any match."

Something was tugging at me, like Doug Grave tugs at his tie. This conversation was of the utmost importance, and I suddenly had a feeling that I could fix this problem.

"Judy, what if I told you I had something with a fingerprint on it? Would you test it?"

Judy looked at me like I had the brain of a small child. "I guess we could take some samples…"

Ken looked at his watch. "Oh, damn. I promised the chief of police I'd meet with him at 8. Hey, I gotta go real quick. I won't leave the precinct, so don't worry about anything." He saluted us and blew Judy a kiss. "Chao!" Pat and Terry followed him out of the room.

My sister walked up to me. "Hey Gordon, are you going to take some prints?"

"Huh? I turned to Judy. "Can I?"

She smiled. "Well, before I entrust you with printing the very delicate murder weapon, maybe I'll have you practice on something first…"

Clara showed off her most devious smile. "I have just the thing." She pushed a blue card into my hands.

"H-hey! Clara, what is this?" It looked familiar, "Is this… Is this Ken's?"

My sister chuckled to herself. "Sometimes I can't help it. Someone's wallet is just hanging out, no one bothers to look… People like that come to my flower shop all the time!"

I gave her a sideways glance. "I'm starting to doubt the innocence of your little "business"."

She chuckled again; I rolled my eyes.

"Actually, that card would do nicely." Judy walked up to me. "We'll return it when Ken gets back, I'm sure he'll understand, Clara."

She handed me a bottle of white powder, "What is this?" I asked.

"Fingerprinting powder." She grabbed my hand and I felt a sudden urge inside me, if she felt it too, she didn't show it. I cursed inside my own head. "Just find a fingerprint on the card, pat a little powder on it, and blow off all of the excess."

I unscrewed the top of the bottle and tapped a bit of the powder on a print mark on the card, after I blew off the remaining powder, I turned back to Judy. "Okay, now what?"

"Let's compare fingerprints!" She pulled out a small electronic device. "We have all registered fingerprints in a database, which I'm accessing wirelessly. Here!" She gave me the small black pad. "Just look up whoever you think these fingerprints belong to."

"This isn't so hard, Gordon!" Clara clenched her fists. "Remember whose wallet I just swiped it from!"

I turned to her. "I… What…" I shook my head. "Sometimes you just say the weirdest things, Clara."

"Focus!" Judy tapped my cheek and I turned back to her.

I took a deep breath and typed in a search for "Ken Cline." The fingerprints were displayed on the screen. I took a look at the screen, then at the card. "They sure look like a match."

"Press the print on the card on this pad." Judy held out a small black pad made of fabric wired up to the black device I was holding. I turned the card over and placed the print on the pad.

"Hold it there for a moment." She held out her hand in front of me. "Okay… we have a match!"

I smiled. "That was pretty fun!" I gave the card back to my sister. "Make sure you return this, okay?"

Judy smiled, "Well, now we know for sure that this is Ken's card. So what do you think, should we start fingerprinting the murder weapon?"

I dug in my pocket and took out the stone I found in Sid Herms' office. "Here, I think this may have the fingerprint on it."

She stared at it and laughed. "A rock? You expect that the missing fingerprint is on this rock? Wow, you really are something."

I stared at the stone in my hand. "I found this near the crime scene. It needs proper documentation."

"Fine," she put all of the fingerprinting material on the desk in front of her. "You can fingerprint rocks all day for all I care, but I have work to do. Here," she dropped the bag containing the murder weapon beside the equipment. "I'll see you later." With a swish of her silky hair, she disappeared through the door.

Tuning to the rock, I found a print near the bottom. After dusting it, I found that it was my own; guess that's what I get for touching it. Finally, I found a print that wasn't mine. Hooking it up to the database device and placing the print on the black pad, I found something interesting display on the results screen.

"Hmm. Of course, this rock was found in Sid Herms' office, so no wonder it has his fingerprints on it."

I turned to the murder weapon. I put on some gloves and took it out of the bag, being careful not to drop it. After powdering all over it, I finally found a single fourth of a fingerprint. I tried to analyze it, but the database device told me that there was not enough of a fingerprint to tell whose it was. I was expecting that to happen, Judy said so herself that a fourth of a fingerprint couldn't turn up results, so I went to plan B.

"Clara, could you get me another one of those black pads on the table there?"

My sister threw a blue popsicle at me and brought me the fingerprint analyzer. I hooked up the two analyzers to the device and scanned the fingerprints on both the stone and the murder weapon. The results came up as a match.

"So, at one time or another, Sid Herms was gripping his own murder weapon."

Clara came up to me, "What was that?"

"It says here that before a gloved person held the murder weapon, Mr. Herms himself was holding it…"

Clara held her hand to her mouth, "Does that mean… Sid Herms' committed **suicide**?"

I shook my head. "I don't think that was the case. The weapon has glove marks on it, and over most of the fingerprints too, so Sid wasn't the last person to wield this." I turned the golden, jewel-encrusted knife around in my hand above my head; squinting my eyes at it. "But why are Mr. Herms' prints on it?"

Terry came back into the room with a jacket on. He didn't know I was still in here, and almost walked back out as soon as he saw me. I blocked his way out. "Hey Scurry, why don't we chat for a moment?"

"There's nothing to chat about Gordon. It's over nine o'clock and I want to go home."

I pulled out my manila folder. "Before you go, could you go back to the scene of the crime and get some more records?"

Terry shook his head, smiling. "You're joking right?"

I showed him something I wrote down. "Terry, blood was found in the elevator and around the walls next to the elevator on the 17th floor. I need the records of whoever used the elevator from 2:30 to 3:30 the night of the crime." I smiled at him, "C'mon Terry, an innocent life is at stake, and at least I'm asking nicely."

"Gordon, how would you know if the elevator kept records of whoever used it? When you go into an elevator, it doesn't ask for an I.D."

"Unless it happens to be after midnight; were you listening at all during the trial today? Ian Vice said that all access ports kept a record of what card was used to activate it. The elevator needs a card key to operate after business hours. I want a record of those uses."

Terry stood still. "I'll get someone on the job, but I'm dead tired. We'll deliver the records to you sometime tomorrow, okay?"

I nodded, "More than okay, it's fantastic." I stepped out of the way so he could get out. I turned to Clara, "It's time to go home."

She sighed, "Finally! I was beginning to think we'd spend the night here."

--

"So do you have an idea?"

My sister, Pat Kantby, and I were riding in Ken's car back home. He turned to me, "You must have some idea about what happened, don't you?"

What really happened at the Herms' Co. Building that night? I was too tired to think, much less come up with an explanation. My only theory was that the crime didn't take place in the office, but Vice probably came up with a solution to that hours ago. Things were looking pretty grim for tomorrow's trial, no denying it.

"Well, me and Pat will be watching you tomorrow, so you better have some kind of show ready, because let me tell you, I snore really loud if I fall asleep. So don't bore me, or the court will suffer an immense distraction." He laughed and took a left turn.

My hand fell into the pouch on the passenger door. I picked up a small document with the Herms' Co. Seal on it.

"Hey Ken, what is this paper?"

He looked at it and his eyes widened. "What are you doing with that?" He suddenly reached to grab it out of my hand, but froze mid-way.

"It's… a bit of research I did on Sid Herms."

"Really?" I skimmed the top of the page. It was a bank transaction to somebody named Bill Edgeidamin from Sid himself. After reading the contents of the paper; I sat straight up in my seat. "Sid Herms has an illegitimate child?"

Ken stared at me and angrily held his finger to his lips. "Shh! That's classified information; don't let anyone hear about it!" The car accelerated faster. "You know, you could ask before you go through someone's things."

"Sorry," I managed. "So what's with the document?"

"It's just some information that's been going around since his death."

"Can I keep it?"

Ken stared at me and bit down on his lip. "I'm not sure… why do you want it?"

We looked at each other for a while, "It's valuable information on the victim. I think, as a defense attorney, I should have as much information on people involved in the case as possible."

He hesitated. "I guess you can have it. Just keep it a secret, okay?"

I nodded. Things had taken an interesting turn of events, but I still didn't see any revelations. The most baffling find today had to have been Sid Herms' fingerprints on his own murder weapon. The news of him having an illegitimate child was surprising, but I didn't see how it affected the case. Also, the blood on the 17th floor had me worried, had I found the actual crime scene? I was depending on Terry Scours to get that information for me. What horrors would the next day bring? No matter, an innocent man was depending on me to find the absolute truth of the case, and I was going to find it!


	9. Chapter 9

Hooray! It is now time for the contradicting evidence to make a return! See if you can guess the correct evidence at the end of this chapter. Oh, and I'd just like to thank the ONE person who cared to review the story. Thanks man! You rock! If you havn't guessed, reviews are loved. If the series is too long or borig to grab your attention or something, please just let me know.

--

"The defense is ready your honor."

"The prosecution has been ready for quite some time."

The gavel slammed down. "Then let us continue the trial for Mr. Doug Grave. Mr. Truth, care to recap what we learned yesterday?"

I nodded. "The court was at an impasse, the evidence told us that the crime scene was the office of Sid Herms', yet the witness testimony made this scenario very hard to believe. From what we now know, we can safely assume that when my client walked into Sid Herms' office that night, neither the window nor the glass case of weapons was broken. This of course, contradicted the prosecution's case that my client used a weapon from the glass case to stab the victim, and then proceed to throw his body out the window. Another day of investigation was then granted to solve this problem." I sat down at my desk. "I'm sure I covered everything?"

The judge nodded, "Quite." He turned to the prosecution. "Mr. Vice, do you have a counter-argument for this statement?"

Ian hunched over his desk, grabbing it on both sides. His smile was very wide today; that can't be good. "The prosecution thinks that our previous witness cannot be trusted to give truthful testimony. And besides, testimony alone cannot overturn the facts. As an added bonus, I have another witness that can clarify that the window was broken at the time Mrs. Wreath specified."

_W-what? How can that be possible? _I pounded my desk, "Mr. Vice, how can such a witness exist? Surely there wasn't **another person **at the scene of the crime?"

He laughed. "Hardly, my witness saw the crime from a different place entirely." He stared at me. "And don't call me Shirley."

I began to sweat.

"As I was saying, my witness did not see anything near the scene of the crime. In actuality, he was simply near the building on the sidewalk."

"What?" I leaned over my desk. "How could he possibly be a witness then?"

"Have you forgotten, Mr. Attorney? You were the one who said that the window wasn't broken during the crime, but my witness can prove you wrong!"

"Wait, wait!" I was sweating profusely now, "But that contradicts the previous witness' testimony!"

"Hmm, let's see here." He put his hands on his hips. "I've got a solid testimony and the evidence on my side. All you have is some small testimony you could have just pressured out… and your excessive whining."

I flinched. "No!"

Ian slammed his fist sideways against his desk. "Oh yes! Now, if I may please call the witness, Roger Watcher to the stand!"

I rubbed my chin. "The witness' name is… Roger Roger?"

Ian leaned over his desk. "No, of course not! His name is Roger WATCHER, as in one who watches!"

"Oh…" I sat down, ready for the sparks to fly.

A grey-haired old man made his way to the stand. He was wearing a brown aviation jacket with a badge on the shoulder. He wore a brown leather cap that old pilots wore, a cross-strap at the top and small ear flaps with holes in them lining his face like sideburns. He had a kindly face, and his scarf seemed to flutter even with the lack of wind. He wore an old Polaroid camera

Another slam of the gavel, "The witness will state his name and profession."

"The name's Roger Watcher; used to be a pilot in the old times." He looked to the ceiling. "Nowadays, the closest I can get to the grand old blue sky is envy the little birds that are free to flutter into the clouds."

I rubbed my chin, "So you're saying you are a… bird watcher?"

He nodded, "That I am."

"Very well." The judge said. "You may begin your testimony Roger Watcher."

"Roger that sir." He cleared his throat. "Well, it was dark and real late, about 2:45 to be a bit more exact. It was a regular lonely night, until I heard something horrible right above me. I quickly took pictures of what I saw."

The judge looked to the ceiling. "Hmm, this is very interesting. Mr. Vice?"

"Yes you honor?"

"The witness testifies to taking pictures of what he saw, no doubt with that Polaroid camera around his neck, but where are these pictures now?"

Ian smiled. "Why, I have them right here." He pushed four black and white pictures to the edge of his desk. "These are three pictures that the witness took that night. I have made copies for the defense and the judge."

A court official handed the photos to me; I took one look and gasped. "W-what is this?" The first was a picture of the broken window, and someone standing inside it. It was my client, Doug Grave, leaning over the broken window with a look of complete terror on his face. The next photo was of a falling body next to the building. It was a bright photo, despite the lack of light at night. There were two ropes on the side of the building, what was that? I checked the court record and saw my documentation of the window washing platform on the ground next to the building, which used a dual-pulley mechanism, which used rope. That had to be it. The next photo was a mess, since it was only a blank frame. The entire picture was black, except for a bit of shimmer in some areas. But it was impossible to see what it was a photo of. The last photo was of the body, now on the concrete sidewalk next to the base of the building. A streetlight lay near the body in the frame of the shot, spilling light on the victim.

"These pictures are quite expertly photographed!" The judge blinked in surprise.

Roger laughed to himself. "I try my best." He hoisted up his camera, "This may look like an old contraption, but it actually is quite the modern marvel; a Polaroid capable of dramatic zooms and a steady shot. Its only downside is that it relies on a bulb for a flash, but it is a perfect camera for use in the light. Since the bulb is a bit delicate."

"Now that you mention it…" The judge concentrated on the camera. "It appears that there is no bulb in the flash at the moment."

Roger held his chest, flinching. "Why, you don't say! I must have missed that!" He turned the camera around and stared into where the bulb was supposed to be. "There's only small shards of glass…"

"Well then, I believe it is time for the cross-examination." The gavel swung. "Mr. Truth?"

"The defense is ready for the cross-examination."

I left my desk, taking my manila folder with me. "Mr. Roger Watcher, you are a bird watcher, correct?"

He held his chest and his scarf fluttered. "Yes, the beautiful aviators of nature. They inspire me; allow me to recall my days of service for this country."

"Well, New York City doesn't seem the ideal place to practice this occupation, does it?"

"That it's not, sir. I was; how you say it, in a transitional phase."

"Umm, care to elaborate, Roger Watcher?"

He saluted me. "Roger that. I was contemplating my next adventure; perhaps a journey to Africa to photograph elegant, foreign natural aviators. Or maybe, the Hawaiian Islands, an idea place to capture multi-colored tropical birds. Maybe even-!"

Ian cleared his throat. "I believe the witness has clarified enough about his being in New York City."

"Now, Mr. Watcher, about this 'horrible noise' you heard, could you please tell us exactly what you heard?"

He saluted. "Roger."

"Actually, this is rather important information; I believe you should have it added to your testimony."

He saluted me again. "Roger that." He held his chest and the scarf went fluttering again. "There was a scream, then the shattering of glass! I have to say, it was all very dramatic! A bit too much for an old gentleman like me."

"HOLD IT!" I pointed to the witness, "If the prosecution's argument is correct, then when the victim supposedly screamed, the window was not yet broken. If this is true, how could you, Roger Watcher, have heard a scream coming from the 30th floor of a skyscraper?"

The witness looked down to his feet. "You see there, that's the thing."

I put down my arm. "What are you saying?"

"You are right, sir. Based on the facts, I should not have heard the man screaming. But the scenario remains, I did hear the scream. I can only conclude that this was the work of higher power!" He swept his scarf around his neck and saluted; a look of power on his face. "Perhaps it was destiny what bestowed its divine ears unto my unworthy head!"

Ian coughed. "The shout is not important. What is important is that the witness heard the breaking of glass, and then proceeded to take pictures of a falling body. This proves the prosecutions-"

"OBJECTION!! The shout is the most important part! How could this witness had heard the scream? Simple! The glass window **was already broken**! That would have made it possible to hear a loud enough noise in the office from the sidewalk!"

Ian slammed his desk. "Are you deaf, attorney? Roger Watcher testified that he heard the scream, then the shattering of glass! You can't break a window twice!"

The room darkened around me. My entire case was riding on this fact, and I needed to prove it! I need to prove that the sound Roger Watcher heard **was not the window breaking**! In fact, I believe I can show him what he **really** **did hear**! What was it? I checked the court record. What was I going to present? I had a ton of choices: the autopsy report, the murder weapon, my client's fingerprints on a payphone in the hallway, the stone found in the victim's office, the blood in the office, the photo of the crime scene, the photo of the glass weapons case, Holly Wreath's cell phone, my business card, the blood residue on the 17th floor, my client's injured foot, the window washing platform, Ken's card key (what? Damn it! I forgot to return this!), the card key record for Sid Herms' office, Roger's camera, the document proving Sid Herms had an illegitimate child, or one of the four photos. What did Mr. Watcher really hear that night?


	10. Chapter 10

Yikes! This one is really short! But, it also ends with the biggest cliff-hanger of the series so far! In fact, if you can answer all the questions at the end of this chapter, you most likely have an IQ of about 200 or more. Right now, even I'm starting to question how this all is going to work out. Well, please read and enjoy! (and possibly review).

Oh, and if you guessed the witness' camera, you were right!

--

"Let's go back over the witness' testimony. Mr. Watcher, what happened to the bulb in the flash canister on your camera?"

"W-what? Erm…" He was sweating. "It appears to have, broken…"

"Exactly!" I pounded my desk. "The witness heard something shattering that night, but it was not a window, it was the bulb of the camera's flash!"

The audience was rumbling pretty loudly now. The gavel pounded to quiet to crowd.

"Are you joking?" Ian stood straight up. "How could you possibly prove that his flash bulb broke at that instant?" He laughed. "You can't, because it's impossible."

"Actually," I brushed some hair out of my face, "It's quite possible."

"What?" He flinched.

I presented the dark photo. "I was wondering why this photo would be so black while the others are so bright. There obviously was no flash for this photo! How is this possible? An experienced photographer wouldn't suddenly shut off the flash in the middle of photographing something, especially something as important as this!"

The crowd began to rumble again. The gavel sounded once again. "Order!"

"But there's a problem with your logic." Ian was trying the best he could to recover. "The time stamp on this photo suggests that it was the second to last photo taken; this photo was the last to be taken!" He presented the picture of the body next to the building and a streetlight. "And it appears to be fine! See how bright it is?"

I shook my head. "Objection, Mr. Attorney; that is not acceptable as an explanation."

He wore an expression of utmost hatred, knowing full well that I was imitating him. "And why is that?"

I pointed to the streetlight next to the body in the photo. "See this? It does a good job of covering the entire photo with light, meaning that if you were to take a picture of this scene, you wouldn't need to use the flash!"

"Ahhh!" His arms flew sideways again.

"Well," I crossed my arms, "Mr. Watcher, do you agree with my logic?"

The witness nodded. "I think I see what you mean. I heard glass breaking and I think my flash went out at that moment." He held up his camera. "Damn thing was never good at taking pictures in the dark."

"So there you have it! Let it be known that the window was not broken when my client entered the office!" I pounded my desk. "Oh how the tides have turned, Mr. Vice. Not only do I have both witnesses' testimonies backing up my theory, I now have the evidence as well!" I couldn't stop smiling; it felt so _good _to be right. The audience appeared to agree, and it took many slams of the gavel to quiet them.

"This is ridiculous!" He smacked his desk again. "This… this makes no sense! If the crime scene wasn't the office of the victim…" He was holding himself up with his arms. "Then just where do you propose the _actual _crime scene was?"

I had yet to think this through, but I had an idea of where the crime **really took place**. It would take a bit to prove it, but this evidence had to have some relevance to this case! This is the evidence that suggests where the crime really took place!

"Yesterday, I re-visited the 17th floor. Ironically, I was at the building during the crime." The audience gasped; yikes, I better be careful of what I say, or else I may become the next suspect!

"Anyway, I was there with my friend Ken Cline, and a man named Pat Kantby. I re-visited the 17th floor yesterday, as I said, but when I was there, I found something interesting." I presented my data on the blood residue. "There was blood on the wall near the elevator on the 17th floor! It was all rubbed away, but… err… luminal testing revealed that there was a quite a bit of blood there!"

"Order! Order!" The judge pounded his mallet rapidity. "This is an interesting find! Do you know whose blood it is?"

I shook my head. "Unfortunately, I do not. Too much of it was wiped away, only the residue was visible."

"Then, I'm afraid you're out of luck." Ian Vice regained his smile. "Unidentified blood on the 17th floor? This is all very hard to believe. If Mr. Herms was murdered there, who do you suppose was the murderer? In fact, how did the body get to the ground?" He presented the photo of the body falling. "This photo was taken while the body was falling, and we have identified that here, the body was at about the 28th floor, and the 30th floor is visible. If you really believe that the victim was murdered on the 17th floor, how do you propose the body found its way to the 30th floor?"

As much as it pained me, I had to find the **one person** capable of murdering Sid Herms. I know he was killed on the 17th floor, but how did the body get to the 30t floor? I need to accuse someone of the murder at this point, and I have to show evidence that proves it was possible for that person to transport the body to the 30th floor. And, if possible, I had to find a witness. Someone who was there **with the killer **who could testify about what the real killer was doing during the murder. I checked the court record and the profiles. First, the killer. Was it; Clara Truth, Mike Angelo, Ken Cline, Pat Kantby, Terry Scours, Ian Vice, Doug Grave, Holly Wreath, Sid Herms, or Roger Watcher? Now, the supporting evidence that shows how they could have transported the body Was it; the autopsy report, the murder weapon, my client's fingerprints on a payphone in the hallway, the stone found in the victim's office, the blood in the office, the photo of the crime scene, the photo of the glass weapons case, Holly Wreath's cell phone, my business card, the blood residue on the 17th floor, my client's injured foot, the window washing platform, Ken's card key, the card key record for Sid Herms' office, Roger's camera, the document proving Sid Herms had an illegitimate child, or one of the four photos? Then, I had to name a witness. This is the turning point of the entire case! Now, all I have to do is keep up with the action!


	11. Chapter 11

Finally! I'm back! After relentless procrastination (not helped by great games such as The World Ends with You and Mario Kart Wii) and intense concentration, I have finally resumed work on my flagship fanfiction. I know all of the evidence is getting confusing, but I'm still offering the whole evidence guessing thing for those who like to keep up.  
(NOTE: THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES A LARGE TWIST, IF YOU ARE NEW TO THIS STORY OR THIS SERIES, I BEG OF YOU TO READ THE FIRST CASE, THEN THE FIRSRT 10 CHAPTERS OF THIS CASE!! Thank you)

--

I reviewed all of the facts in my mind. This couldn't be, with all of the evidence, with all of the testimony… the killer could only have been… him. But how could that be true? He would never… would he?

The judge blinked in surprise at the profile I handed to him. "Why, it appears as if I have seen this person before!"

I couldn't believe what I had just done. _Please, let me be wrong! This can't be!_

"He looks familiar because he was in this court only a few weeks ago, on trial for murder in fact. I got him an acquittal, and I proved that he didn't do it. But now, I'm afraid the defense has no other choice but to name… Ken Cline… for the murder of Sid Herms."

The audience was in an uproar. The judge slammed his gavel. "Order in the court! T-this is insane! A defense attorney naming one of his own clients as the suspect in a murder trial? That's… that's unfathomable!" He shook his head. "I hope the defense isn't indulging us in some sick joke?"

I shook my head. "I wish I was your honor. But I have some supporting proof."

I pushed a blue card to the edge of my desk. "This is a card key for the Herms Co. Building, which allows access to anywhere in the building and operates the elevators. And this certain card key has Ken Cline's fingerprints on it!"

The courtroom was absolutely silent, but this time; it wasn't the good kind of silent.

"Mr. Vice, what do you think of this accusation?"

Ian hid his eyes beneath his hair. "As should be obvious, the prosecution believes these statements do not affect the case at all."

The judge rubbed his chin and closed his eyes. After a few minutes, the gavel rang throughout the courtroom. "The court will take a twenty minute recess. Although we are to consider every possible suspect, in the case of this Mr. Cline, it sounds much too ridiculous. I would like to talk to the prosecutor and the defense attorney in my private quarters during this recess to talk over this new direction. Court is adjourned!"

--

I suddenly realized how old and musty the courtroom smelled as I re-entered twenty minutes later. The crowd was rumbling softly, trading gossip and their own theories. I sat at my desk and felt something cold and blue hit the center of my forehead.

"Gordon? What happened?" Clara clenched her fists.

I took a seat next to my sister. "What are you talking about?" I teased.

She pushed me playfully. "You should know! You were summoned to the judge's private office! What happened in there?"

I tried my best to smile under the intense sweat. "We reached an agreement."

Looking to the other side of the courtroom, I found the man I had just accused for the murder of the richest man in New York City. Our eyes met for a second…

_You don't want to do this Gordon._

_But I have to find the truth, why Sid was murdered, how he was murdered. Everything in this case, it all begins and ends… with you._

_You don't know what you're doing. Please Gordon, leave me be._

_It's not about friends anymore. It's about what's right. And revealing the truth is always right._

… _Then I'm sorry it had to end this way._

The judge slammed his gavel. "The court has reconvened. Mr. Truth; Mr. Vice, I believe we had come to an agreement on our next course of action?"

I nodded. "Yes we did. Ken Cline will be called to the stand himself to give a short testimony to see if he deserves suspicion. In return, the defense admits that it cannot undeniably prove that the crime did not occur in Sid Herms' office, and any future references to the crime scene will be relating to the office, unless it can be absolutely proven through evidence or testimony that the office was not, in fact, the crime scene."

The judge nodded. "Mr. Vice, are we in agreement?"

Ian chuckled. "Of course. I would never pass up a chance for the defense to embarrass itself in front of so many people."

I ground my teeth and pictured Ian's head exploding.

My black-haired, elegant looking friend took the stand with a smile. I tried to hide my face from him, but his gaze managed to find mine. He laughed to himself and shook his head; _you don't know what you're doing._

"Mr. Ken Cline, do you understand the circumstances of you being called to the stand today?"

He nodded. "I was informed from the audience as a matter of fact. Really Gordon, did you really have to go and do that?"

I bit my bottom lip to keep myself from replying.

He shook his head again. "Gordon, I'm only going to say this once. If you back out of this now, maybe… _maybe…_" He brushed some bangs out of his face, "…I could find it in my heart to forgive you."

I gulped, maybe I had stumbled down the wrong path after all.

The judge slammed his mallet, "I'm sorry about this Mr. Cline, but could you please tell us about the night of the murder?"

Ken studied his fingernails smugly, "And why should I?"

The judge narrowed his eyes. "E-excuse me?"

Ken leaned back. "Why am I even here again? Is it because I happen to own a blue card? C'mon Gordon, you're better than that. You wouldn't point out a buddy of your so soon in the game, would you?"

I looked away. "The defense's accusation stands."

Ken smiled, "Well, if you really want to go through with this. Since my friend Gordon is so intent on it, I will testify to the night of the crime."

"Like you have a choice." The judge smacked his gavel. "Please begin your testimony, Mr. Cline."

He cracked his fingers. "You see, it's simple. I wasn't anywhere near the scene of the crime… ever, IN MY LIFE." He smiled smugly at me. "You were there, Gordon, us three were in that room together. Did you honestly ever see me leave, even for a second?" He rubbed his hair back. "The only thing that could have shattered that window was the dead body of Sid Herms, and from what I know, I was on the 17th floor with two friends at the time of the murder." He grinned. "Is that enough?"

The judge contemplated the new testimony. "So our own defense attorney was with you on the night in question? Where were you two?"

"On the 17th floor, in office number 214; we were with a friend of mine."

"The defense is ready for the cross-examination." Knowing Ken, getting him to talk would be difficult. I almost didn't want to do it, but I had to go through with what I started.

"Mr. Cline, from what the two witnesses have testified to earlier, and with supporting evidence, it is very possible that the window was not broken at the time we are to believe that it was."

He shrugged. "Whatever. No matter what, I have an alibi and a witness to it."

This is tough. I had this idea on how the window was shattered, and now might be a good time to bring it up, since it could possibly contradict his testimony.

"Mr. Cline, you said that the only thing that could have broken the window was Sid Herms' dead body. But let me ask, hypothetically, what if something else broke the window?"

Ken sniffed. "I'd say that you'd have a hard time proving it."

"And what if, hypothetically," I said, ignoring his last statement, "The time the window actually was broken was the day before the murder?"

He was silent for a moment. "What are you saying Gordon? Where exactly are you leading me?"

I pointed to my once best-friend and raised my voice. "I'll show you something else that could have broken the window of the supposed crime scene! Something I found in the office myself. This is what really shattered the great glass window!"

_What really broke the window? Was it: the autopsy report, the murder weapon, my client's fingerprints on a payphone in the hallway, the stone found in the victim's office, the blood in the office, the photo of the crime scene, the photo of the glass weapons case, Holly Wreath's cell phone, my business card, the blood residue on the 17__th__ floor, my client's injured foot, the window washing platform, Ken's card key, the card key record for Sid Herms' office, Roger's camera, the document proving Sid Herms had an illegitimate child, or one of the four photos?_


	12. Chapter 12

Hey, I'm finally back with the next Gordon Truth chapter. Since this has only gotten one review so far, I have to ask if this story is even keeping your attention (it must be if you're on chapter 12). Anyway, if you are reading this, I have a question. Do you even like this story? What could be better about it? Hopefully I'll get some responses.

Anyway, on to the story.

--

I drew the stone from my pocket, the stone I had taken fingerprints from just a day before. I held it up for the court to see.

"See this? Now, I admit this seems unorthodox…" I began walking in front of the audience, tossing the stone up and down. "I could have gotten this stone anywhere, and I'm claiming that this simple rock shattered an office window on the 30th floor? Surely…" I smiled deviously, "I must be insane."

I tossed the stone again and clasped it in my hand. "This is one of a multiple series of evidence that will support and prove my next theory. But before we get into details, let me prove this stone's relevance to this case. It is a fact that the victim's fingerprints were found on the stone. It is a fact that the stone was found in the victim's desk only yesterday, as a certain detective can witness to. Now, this is puzzling; why would a millionaire business man like Sid Herms keep a simple stone in his office, inside a drawer? Well, I can think of one reason why. Maybe that… one day, most likely the day before his murder, he found the stone in his office, as well as a broken window. Distressed, he placed the stone away in an open drawer."

Ian Vice smacked his desk. "It does indeed look as if you have gone insane, Mr. Truth. Why would anyone want to throw a rock into that window?"

I smiled. "Tsk, tsk, tsk… Not yet Ian! You must wait until I am finished before you ask that question. A better question would be, how in the world would one be able to throw a stone through a window on the 30th story?"

Ian blinked. "P-precisely! How would someone be able to reach the 30th story with a rock? It's impossible!"

"It would be impossible, if you are suggesting it was thrown from the ground level."

He clasped his hand to his forehead and leaned over his desk. "W-what? This is ridiculous! He is spewing nonsense!"

"I'd enjoy it if you stopped throwing slander around, Mr. Vice."

He growled and crossed his arms, his face showing intense rage.

"You should let me present evidence before you lose your tongue, Mr. Vice. Do you think I would present something this ridiculous without evidence?"

He snarled.

"Anyway," I strode back over to my desk and pulled a photo out of my manila folder. "This is a photo I had taken yesterday. You can clearly see the window-washing platform in the picture. This photo was taken facing down from the broken window, and as you can see… the platform is directly underneath the window, on the ground of course, but it could be easily pulled up to the 30th story. So as is proven, it was entirely possible to break the window."

Ian spat. "So what if it was possible? The window wasn't broken in the way in which you describe." He placed one of Roger Watcher's pictures on his desk, the one depicting the body on the sidewalk next to the building. "You can clearly see shards of glass on and around the body," he pointed to the body in the photo, "You see? Shards of glass weren't found in the office, only on the sidewalk. When you break glass, be it by a stone's throw, or a body being pushed through it, an **outward force **is applied. This force scatters broken glass outward in the direction that the glass was broken from." He laughed. "You really had me worried for a second Gordon. But, as always, you come to a dead halt. Since the shards of glass ended up on the sidewalk, the force could only have been applied from inside the window!" He slapped the photo against his desk, looking eccentrically glad. "So, what do you have to say to that?"

I shook my head. Standing, I pointed calmly to my opposition. "That… is an excellent point. But a point, alas, that will be turned against you."

I pushed my manila folder into the desk, concentrating intensely. "My client, Doug Graves, received an injury on the night of the murder. I took the liberty of having his right foot examined, and I have an X-ray right here." I flipped a black and white photo onto my desk. "As you can see, there is obviously a shard of glass stuck in his right heel!"

Audible gasps escaped from the crowd. "Thankfully, the shard is only about the size of a fingernail, so there is no serious damage. It must have gone through his shoe and only a tiny bit pierced his skin. But as we can see, sometime between Doug entering the building on the day of the murder to the time he was arrested, a shard of glass somehow found its way into his foot. How? While he was in the office, he stepped on it! How is that possible? Because the window was broken, **from the outside!!** The shards were in the office, not the sidewalk, and my client's injury proves it!"

Ian Vice choked while the audience screamed behind him. Some were banging on the backs of other's chairs, and some were just wide-eyed and silent. The judge slammed his gavel repeatedly until all was quiet.

"Mr. Truth, this would appear a rather vital piece of evidence? Why was this not brought up before?"

I shook my head. "This evidence was found yesterday, after trial proceedings."

Ian was struggling. "B-but what does that prove? F-for all we know, the defendant could have pushed the victim out of the window anyway! So what if it wasn't broken? That doesn't work in your favor one bit!"

"It will, just be patient." I smiled. "My final piece of evidence is about to come to light."

Ian Vice shot his hand into the air, as if to stop a train. "Wait! If the window was indeed broken from the outside, how did all of the shards end up outside?"

I nodded. "That certainly is the question. I believe that either the murderer or an accomplice swept the shards out of the window after the deed was done."

Ken Cline laughed. "I'm sure you'll have a hard time proving that as well."

I shook my head "Brace yourself Ken, because here it comes. This will convict the witness enough to get him to testify." I took the document I got from Ken out of my manila folder. "This is a signed document typed by Sid Herms himself. I have made copies for everyone…"

"What the-?" the judge said after looking at a copy of the document, "Sid Herms has an illegitimate child?"

I scratched the side of my head, "This may be the sort of thing you don't want to shout." Behind me, most of the audience began writing furiously in their sketch pads.

Ian Vice shook his head, grinning. "And how does this convict the witness?"

I pointed to my copy of the document. "As you can see, the date the document was signed was on July 10th, which was two days before his death. And as you can see, this document holds… information that Mr. Herms would be reluctant to give away. I'd expect a document like this to be kept in secret, probably in his desk somewhere. However, when I met my friend Ken Cline in his car yesterday, this document was sitting right on his dashboard!"

Ken turned his head sideways, blinking rather quickly. "I told you Gordon, this was only information going around after his death. Everyone knew this."

"Really Ken? Finally have to resort to fibbing?" I pointed at him. "If this was just some gossip on Sid Herms and everyone knew it, why would you have the original, signed copy?"

"W-what are you talking about?"

"Can't you see? This isn't a copy, this is the original document Sid Herms signed, and most likely kept in his desk until his death! I had it tested, if the ink used for his signature is of the same substance as the rest of the page; that makes it a copy. But this paper has different ink, ink from a pen that Mr. Herms used to sign it with." I pounded my desk. "The office was off limits almost as soon as Mr. Herms was killed. So how could you possibly have it in your possession?" You would have to have taken the document from his office yourself. I've proved the window of the office was broken from the outside, so that means someone really wanted inside that office. Why? Possibly… to **blackmail Sid Herms**!"

The audience gasped and Ian dropped his head, blinking rapidly.

"If this person had proof that Sid Herms had an illegitimate son, he could threaten to expose the news to the public! So, who has the dirt? Not my client, the person who broke into Mr. Herms office is sitting in the witness chair right now!"

Ken stood up in his chair. "So you're saying because I have some document, I'm the killer?"

I pounded my desk. "You're not listening! You have the original document!"

He rammed his fist into the witness stand. "NO! You're the one who's not listening! How can you possibly know this document was in his office? What if some other person gave it to me?"

"And you're forgetting." Ian Vice spoke from across the room. "This is not a case of blackmail, this is a case of murder! Am I to believe that this witness broke in through the window and killed Mr. Herms in order to get a document so he could blackmail him? That is preposterous! You cannot blackmail a dead man!"

The court was beginning to close in on me. I gulped. "I'm not saying the break in and the murder happened at the same time. I'm saying that…"

"What time do you suggest this happened then? And you better remember, the 30th floor is full of employees at all times of the day!"

The final thread of logic that strings this entire charade together, the time of the break-in. I laughed. "Do I really have to say this? Tell me Ian, what did Sid Herms do to celebrate his birthday about a week ago?"

His face flushed.

"That's right. He took the entire 30th floor out to a seafood restaurant. I know, I was there."

"As was I." Ken said, smiling pleasantly. "I was at the restaurant too. How could a break a window a mile away while in plain sight of everyone at lunch?

I shook my head. "Yes, yes, you were at the restaurant. But remember what Sid and the rest of the employees did after the meal?"

Ken began sweating mildly. I crossed my arms, "That's right, you don't know, because you weren't there! He made several public appearances on the news and gave a speech at the square. It was nighttime when we all returned to the building. But," I tapped my chin with my finger, staring at the ceiling as if thinking deeply, "where were you?"

Ken bit his upper lip and began breathing deeply. "Maybe it had something to do with family, maybe it had something to do with taxes. Whatever it was, it's not important."

"I'll say it's important, because if it's not, you have no alibi!"

He turned his head away from me. "Gordon, how could I know there was something in Sid's office I could use to blackmail him with? I don't even work there, I was invited by a friend…"

"Ah yes, the friend." I smiled. "This friend was very close to you, wasn't he? In fact, he was also close to Mr. Herms as well. He's also sort of a gossip. In fact, that may be the entire reason you and he are friends."

Ken held his chest. "Low-blow, Gordon; low-blow."

I scratched my chin, "In fact, he was with you and I that night. We were all on the 17th floor together."

Ken smiled. "This is why it's so puzzling that you'd accuse me. You and I were in the same room the entire night."

I shook my head. "Not all of the time. I remember taking a bathroom break."

He laughed. "Then it was just me and my buddy. And I'll bet he'll tell you if I left the room or not."

I nodded. "I'm sure he will. And that's why I now call Pat Kantby to the stand!"

Ken looked taken off guard for the first time. "What? You're not serious!"

I looked to the court. "I think I've established enough evidence to cast suspicion on this witness? The window to Sid Herms' office was broken from the outside by someone using the window washing platform. The motive for this breaking and entering was to collect a document that would be used as blackmail. This document was found in Mr. Cline's car a week later. He has a friend who is close to Mr. Herms and has a loose tongue."

Ian pounded his desk. "But this is a murder trial! This isn't a blackmail! And I still don't see how your logic disproves the defendant!"

"You are right about that Ian," I ran my hand through my hair. "We can only assume that somehow, during the blackmail. Something **went wrong**. But this isn't to be addressed now. Right now, I need Pat Kantby to testify!"

The gavel slammed down. "It appears we are in need of a certain witness. Where is this Pat Kantby?"

"He is here in the audience today, your honor." I looked behind me, but the crowd was too dense to find anyone specific.

The gavel slammed again. "So be it. The court sees reason to believe this Mr. Cline could somehow be related to this crime, although his breaking and entering has yet to be proven. If the prosecution has no objections…"

"Of course I have an objection!" Ian stared at the judge, a look of hatred on his face. "I am the prosecutor, not this greenhorn! We can't suddenly shift attention to someone else! There is more proof in favor of my argument than the defense's. I say we continue our trial the way trials are supposed to be carried out! With the defense defending, and the prosecution prosecuting!"

The judge closed his eyes. "All matters of a case must be put under equal observation. If this Ken Cline character really does have something to do with this case, I put it under this new witness to prove or disprove the accusation. Objection overruled! Mr. Cline, step down please and allow the police to escort you to your seat in the audience, where you will not be able to leave until you are cleared of all suspicion. I will call a twenty minute recess for this new witness to prepare his testimony. Court is adjourned!"

--

Mike Angelo furrowed his brows. "This is a train just waiting to crash."

I sat down on the couch in the defense lobby, crouched over with my head in my lap and my hands laying on the back of my head. Mike Angelo was pacing in front of me. "You are definitely not an average attorney. I'm just saying, our old friend better be guilty or I'll walk away from this with a vastly different opinion of you."

"Mike, t-this is the last thing I need."

Mike stopped pacing at the foot of the couch and leaned down to my head. "What do you need then? Are you _this _determined to win your case? Willing the place suspicion on one of your best friends!" He stomped his foot. "It disgusts me! You were the last person I thought would become this kind of slimy attorney, Gordon. Well, it looks like I got you to defend Ken at the right time! Now just two weeks later, he's back under police supervision because of his own attorney!"

I lifted my head slowly. Mike looked at my face and his arms, both lifted in anger, immediately came down. My face was red and stained with tears. "M-mike… please… no. Stop it." I sobbed violently, bringing my face back down. Mike stared as if he had suddenly seen a ghost. He quietly took a seat on another chair.

"You think this isn't hard for me?" My voice was partially muffled under my hands. "This is so confusing; I don't even know what to believe anymore." I lifted up my face and rested my chin on my arm. "I don't know how to do anything. Do I defend my client? Do I stick up for my friend? I just don't know. Ever since I found this document in his car, everything began to make sense. But now… I just don't know anymore." I tried to blink the tears out of my eyes.

Mike kept silent.

"I look like I have everything under control in court. But I'm just trying not to let Ian get the better of me. I… I feel like an awful attorney. I feel like I'm doing whatever it takes to get my client off the hook. I want to find the truth but… I wonder if the truth wants to find me." I wiped my face with my tie. "You're right Mike. Maybe the impossible had happened. Maybe the Gordon Truth who always stood in the name of justice and always rooted for the good guy… maybe that man is gone." I looked to the ceiling, holding my breath.

My sister looked on the verge of tears herself. "Big brother…" she managed before she buried her face in a pillow. Benjamin Bell had yet to say anything. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and staring at his feet with a look of anger.

Mike Angelo stood up. "I'll say this, Gordon. Think of this case as a giant piece of stone, and you want to make a sculpture out of it. You don't craft the sculpture yourself, the work of art is simply inside the block, waiting for you to clear the excess off so it can shine. You say you want to find the truth? The truth is waiting to be found, it won't simply come to you. The truth is always there, you only have to clear away all of the lies, all of the crap off of it." He sighed, "It's about time to re-enter the court room. You better get going."

My sister came to me and helped me up. With one last look at Mike's unreadable expression, we walked back into the courtroom.


	13. Chapter 13

Hey there everyone! Finally, I'm back with a new chapter! This chapter has a cliffhanger, but there's no guess-that-evidence at the end like before. Sorry if you liked that feature, but the evidence is getting too cluttered. (and there's even a hint of some _deax es machina, _but don't worry, the climax of this case won't really be effected by it. Hope you enjoy!

--

Pat Kantby looked like hell.

My sister and I sat at our desk. "How are you doing Mr. Grave?" I asked.

He lifted his head from the desk. "I should ask you the same thing, you don't look very good." He chewed his bottom lip.

I wiped my eyes. "I assure you I'm quite alright. Please don't be nervous, just relax and let me take care of things."

Clara held on to my shoulder. "Are you sure you can do this?"

I wiped my eyes. "I'll tell you what, as soon as I start feeling like I can't handle it, I'll let you be my substitute attorney." I smiled. She lost her worried frown but still kept close to me, as if to support me if I happened to fall, a gesture I appreciated very much.

The gavel slammed. "Court is now in session. We have stumbled upon many multiple perspectives in this case, but this next witness may be the one we've been looking for all this time. Mr. Cline has proven to be rather suspicious with the evidence presented, and I'm looking to this witness to tell us if these accusations are worth merit." The gavel slammed again and Pat Kantby jumped.

The judge nodded to the bailiff, who brought the document I had presented to the witness stand. He laid the paper in front of Pat. "Mr. Kantby, do you recognize this document?"

He gulped. "Y-yes I do. It is a document Mr. Herms was going to send. It says that he wanted to remove his son, Will Edgedamin from his will. His old will clearly instructed that his son be left with all of his assets." He coughed. "But I really don't see how this accuses-"

"And do you admit to talking openly about this document, especially in the presence of a Mr. Ken Cline?"

"W-w-well… I." His eyes darted left and right. "I really can't recall…"

The judge leaned over his stand. "Please Mr. Kantby, if anything, your suspicious behavior will work against Mr. Cline rather than for him, please answer the question."

Pat Kantby closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Yes, I told Ken about it."

The audience began bantering lightly at the news. Pat leaned forward, "But! He's not the only one I told! I told almost everyone I knew! Anyone could have-"

I cleared my throat. "Before the witness gives testimony, I'd like to ask one question of my own."

"Very well," said the judge, "and what is your question?"

"Mr. Kantby," I slid my hands to the edge of the desk and leaned forward slightly. "When you talked about the document with Ken Cline, did he ever express sincere interest in it? Did he ever ask if he could see it, or where he could find it?"

Pat choked. "N-no! Never!"

I squinted. "Are you telling the truth?"

He began sweating intensely. "I-I plead the fifth! It's not important!"

I pulled my hands into fists and slammed them into the desk. "It damn well is important!"

"Please! Mr. Truth, control yourself!" The judge smacked his gavel. "Enough of this, Mr. Kantby, please tell us your perspective on that night's events."

He gulped again. "Uh… I guess I don't have a choice do I?" He wiped his forehead and stammered together a testimony. "It was Sid Herms' birthday. To celebrate, Mr. Herms' took the employees in the 30th floor to lunch. I was part of that crowd, as was the defense attorney and my friend Ken. After the lunch, we traveled around with Mr. Herms around the city to make public appearances, and he gave a speech in the square about the future of Herms Corp. When we got back to the office it was around seven thirty at night, and it was already dark out. After we got back, me, Ken, and Mr. Truth stayed behind on the 17th floor to chat. Everything was fine, nobody left the room. At about three, Ken and Mr. Truth left the building through the elevator."

Clara looked at me. "Did you find anything wrong with the testimony?"

I shrugged. "Not much. But when he said 'nobody left the room'… I wonder."

"Is that a lie?"

I tapped my chin. "Kind of, I left the room to go to the bathroom, but…" I gulped. "Under these circumstances, I don't think I should bring that fact to light." I turned to my sister. "I'll just press until I have something to work with."

"You may now begin your cross-examination Mr. Truth." Said the judge, with a swing of the gavel.

"Mr. Kantby, were you with direct contact with Mr. Cline at the restaurant that night?"

He nodded. "I was. In fact, I remember him passing out your card to anyone who slowed down. Kind of ironic isn't it?" He added with a sneer.

I ignored his comment. "What about after lunch? Did you see him then?"

Pat opened his mouth and closed it again, he furrowed his brow, thinking. "N-no. I don't think so. But after lunch everyone was so cluttered it's really no surprise I didn't…"

"So about nobody leaving the room until around three in the morning; think about it, is that really true?"

He rubbed his chin. "Well, I do remember someone leaving, now that you mention it…"

I could feel everyone in the audience lean forward in their seats.

"…somebody did leave that room. Actually, they were gone for almost forty minutes if I'm not mistaken…"

I almost jumped. Forty minutes? If he was gone for forty minutes; that would be more than enough to…

Hold it…

He's not talking about Ken… "Wait!! OBJEC-!"

"It was you, Mr. Attorney."

I fell over onto my desk, my legs had given out on me.

Pat was enjoying this change of pace. "Forty minutes is a very long time to take a bathroom break, isn't it?"

The audience looked in my direction, all of them wide-eyed. Sweat found its way to my eyes, temporarily blinding me. I tried to smile, to laugh it off. But my arms were slack, my legs felt weak. I quickly sat down, covering my head with my arms. Seeing my distress, I felt my sister stand up…

"If Gordon Truth was involved in this murder in any way, we would have already of found accusing evidence and testimony. There is neither motive nor opportunity for Mr. Truth to murder Sid Herms. We are going to continue this cross-examination, and although Mr. Kantby's comment will not go by unnoticed, I reassure everyone that any accusation of Gordon Truth will be a waste of time and any results will turn up inconclusive if not completely ridiculous."

This managed to tone down the tenseness of the courtroom. I gently pulled her close and whispered "thank you" in her ear. She smiled as I stood back up.

"Anyway… Mr. Kantby, you are quite sure Ken did not leave the room?"

He didn't answer. He was staring at his lap, clearly contemplating something.

"Mr. Kantby? Are you sure he didn't leave?"

"What?" He looked up. "Y-yes, I'm quite sure he didn't leave."

"While I was gone, what did you two talk about?"

"Well…" He wiped his sweating face with his tie. "We… talked. I don't really remember…"

"And there were no interruptions? Nothing at all?"

"Will you stop cutting me off!" His face became red. "Seriously, I'm trying to finish my sentences, you could be thoughtful enough to-."

"Please, this has nothing to do with the case." I smiled. So what if I was a little rude? It makes up for his trying to pass suspicion onto me. "Can I have an answer please?"

"I-I…" he stammered. His eyes began darting around again. "Well… umm…" He was clearly torn between two things.

"I need an answer Mr. Kantby."

"Well… there was one thing…"

My eyes lit up, was this the weak point I was looking for? "Was there? Care to elaborate?"

"Well, he got a call on his cell phone… he didn't answer it but, he let it ring five times, then he just turned it off without looking at it."

My mind raced with possibilities. "Really? Was that all?"

"I asked him who it was, since he let it ring a bit. He said it was just somebody he knew. Then he said he needed to call them back and that was when he… ulp!"

"When he what? Mr. Kantby, is there something you're not telling us?"

He was pulling at his tie, sweat dripping down his neck. "N-no. He didn't… there wasn't any... I'M TIRED! Can I come down… p-please?"

I pounded my desk. "Obviously, you were on the brink on divulging certain information that you are now reluctant to give. Why? Could Mr. Cline possible have told you to keep quiet on certain-."

"SHUT UP!! SHUT… UP!" He grasped both sides of his head and writhed. "You're one to talk you bastard of an attorney! Selling out your best friend just to win your damn case! You're the guilty one here! You hear me? GUILTY!!"

I threw out my hands, as if to block an oncoming blow. "Please, Mr. Kantby, calm down!"

"YOU!!" He forced a pudgy finger in my direction; a growing wet spot had formed on the neck of his suit. "I don't want to hear one more word from you!"

I pounded my desk. "NO! You will tell the court what you about to say RIGHT NOW!!"

"Mr. Truth…" the judge began. "I really don't think you can demand such things…"

I didn't care, my opinion of Mr. Kantby was lowering sharply every passing second. "You swore you would tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth! Are you holding true to those standards? ARE YOU?"

He was biting down on his tongue and shaking. "FINE!!" He exploded. "HE LEFT! HE SAID HE NEEDED TO CALL BACK SO HE LEFT THE ROOM! YOU HAPPY? You… happy…?" His face fell forward onto his desk. "J-just let me breathe for a moment."

I let the meaning of his last comment sink into the court before I spoke. "So, Mr. Cline left the room on the night of the murder after all. I hope you realize the importance of this-."

"NO!" He jumped back up into his seat. "You think you have me? YOU DON'T! You want to know how long he was gone?" With a look of rage he shoved an open hand into the air in front of him, wiggling his fingers defiantly. "Five! Five minutes! That's hardly enough time to walk up to the thirtieth floor and back!"

"That's where you're wrong Mr. Kantby! I have here a card key found in Mr. Clines wallet. He could easily have used the elevator!"

"So what if he could have? To go to the thirtieth floor from the seventeenth and back would still take over five minutes!"

I opened my mouth and closed it again. I was getting sidelined, distracted. He was trying to lead me, purposefully or not, away from a very important piece of evidence.

"I think now would be the best time to remind the court about my theory that the real crime scene was not the office of Sid Herms, but on the 17th floor, right next to Mr. Cline!"

"Do you hear yourself Mr. Attorney?" Ian Vice spoke up for the first time in what felt like hours. "You said 'theory'. Theories are not permitted in a court of law, only facts."

"But it makes sense! If Ken Cline only had five minutes, then the idea that the murder took place on the seventeenth floor is very probable!"

"You say 'probable', not 'certain'. These kind of statements need proof. And do I see any? No, I don't."

I smiled. "Look again." Here it is; my trump card. Finally, I can reveal my secret evidence. "This morning, I had the good detective send me a record of all the uses of the elevator the night of the murder between the hours of 2:30am and 3:30am." I pushed a paper to the edge of the desk. "It says that at 2:56, the card key number 348765 was used to activate the elevator. And guess what? This card key, found in Ken Cline's wallet and covered with his fingerprints, has that very number inscribed on the back! When I got back to the room, it was already after three o' clock. So, tell me, why was Ken using his card key to activate the elevator, right where a dry and raked-away pool of blood was located on the wall!" I slammed my desk. "I'll tell you why! To **get rid of the body**!"

Ian Vice flinched backward. "W-what? NO!"

Pat Kantby raised his right arm above his head as if he had just been hit. "THAT CAN'T BE!!"

I smiled. I had finally figured it out. "You see? The murder happened on the seventeenth floor! This large area of wiped away blood didn't come from anywhere! Sid Herms was murdered there, then his body was transported to the thirtieth floor by elevator!"

"WAIT! WAITWAITWAIT!!" Ian Vice nearly jumped over his desk. "This makes no sense whatsoever!! W-what about the other witnesses testimonies? And what makes you think it was the thirtieth floor the body was transported to? I-if any body was transported at all?"

"Simple… the murderer had an **accomplice**."

Ian coughed and spat. "What? T-this is the first time I've ever heard of such a thing!! An accomplice? R-r-rid-d-d-d-d-diculous!!"

"Y'know, I've been wondering… ever since the fact that the window shards were brushed out of the office to the street below came to light, I've been thinking. You see, there was this one witness. This witness struck me as a little strange. Although at the time there was no basis for the witness's behavior, I now believe that the time has come to bring it to light. Ken Cline had an accomplice to the murder that night! This accomplice is the one who swept the glass shards out of the office window, this accomplice is the one who called Ken Cline while he was in the office with Pat Kantby, this accomplice is the one who intercepted the body on the thirtieth floor!" I let every word sink into the crowd, my heart raced with excitement, and my blood seemed to flow twice as fast.

"The accomplice's name is Holly Wreath."


	14. Chapter 14

Here we are. The end of another case. I hope you've all been folowing along, beause this is where it all ends. Now, this chapter might make you think that this is the end of Gordon Truth, but rest assured, cases 3 through 5 will be appearing soon. Thanks to all of you readers out there who are willing to read a bit of OC heavy fanfiction. Thank you!

--

The judge had called another recess. I didn't bother go to the defense lounge, since I knew I'd only find angry faces. Just a bit more and then… then Ken will be taken away; away in chains. I held my head, I felt as if I was experiencing déjà-vu. Did I really want my friend arrested? … I couldn't answer my own question.

"Mr. Attorney."

The sharp rasp of a cold voice pulled me back into reality. I looked up from my desk to see Ian Vice's pale face grinning and staring blades into my eyes. I stood.

"You want something?"

He gripped my arm, my gaze shot to his expression; he was no longer smiling.

"Listen, you have no idea what kind of hell you might set loose if you continue chasing this case the way you've been doing." He looked quickly from side to side, checking for eavesdroppers. "Please, I'm asking you, and this is the only time I'm going to be polite. Stop trying to acquit your client. Find him a reduced sentence or… I don't know." He looked down to the floor, worried. "You can say he was not right in the mind, if he was really in a fit of anger. Defense attorneys play that card all the time."

I pulled my arm away from him. "Stop it. I won't ever betray the trust of my client." I walked closer to him and looked into his face. "And if you are hiding something from this court, I'll make sure it all comes out into the open. Because I'll never quit on a case or any other matter until I know the entire truth. Thank you, Mr. Vice."

I didn't get a good look at his face before he turned and made his way back to his desk. My sister wrapped her arm in mine. "It's okay big brother. He was probably trying to trick you anyway."

"Yeah," I looked to the audience, where I could make out the figure of Ken Cline staring back at me, "maybe."

--

"I don't think a testimony will be necessary."

The judge, caught in mid-sentence in directing Ms. Wreath to the stand, turned his head to me. "What?"

I knew this would work. This part of the stage would be easy. "I only require one thing of our witness."

"And what would that be?" She addressed me directly, with a tone of disdain. She had cleaned herself up, but I could still see faint red stains in her hair. "How could you possibly bring me lower?" She said with anger.

"It depends on one piece of evidence." I smiled. "Your cell phone please."

"Wha-what?"

--

"Tell me, Mr. Cline." I paced in front of him, holding my hands together behind my back with my face to the ceiling. I lifted Holly's cell phone. Under the records of calls dialed from her phone, Ken's name was highlighted. "Why would she call you at exactly 2:52am that night?"

Ken's face blended into the others of the audience, despite his being on the witness stand. "I dunno, small talk I guess?"

"According to testimony, you let your phone ring five times. Strange behavior isn't it? And you didn't even look at your phone. I'd think that if someone were calling you, you'd answer."

His face was hidden under his hair. "My cell phone habits have nothing to do with this case, do they?" He bit his lip in annoyance and anger. "I'm afraid I've lost my appetite for speech. Why don't you just keep talking about what a horrible man you'd like me to be? Why don't you prove that once and for all that I'd ever want to kill someone? Why don't you…" I saw a tear drip down his face. "…just get this over with?"

I lowered my pointed finger. "Ken… I'm sorry. But you've done something that is unforgivable. Just the fact that we're friends won't change that."

"Friends? Sure, friends. 'Friends treat friends like criminals'. Yeah, I think I read that on a shirt somewhere."

"Ken…"

"We're not friends, Gordon." He turned away. "Not anymore."

I bit my lip in shame. "I'm sorry I have to do this. But I have to continue."

"Go ahead. I won't stop you."

I shook my head and held it in my hand. "If you let it ring five times, then you must have expected it. You expected Ms. Wreath to call you that night. Why? Sid Herms was called out of his office, why else would he go to the seventeenth floor? I think this…" I held up the stone that helped me prove my earlier point, "held the message. Perhaps a paper tied or taped to this stone; a paper that told him to meet somebody on the seventeenth floor, because he was being blackmailed." I sat down; my legs painfully laying limp. "You wanted to cover your tracks. You entered his office the only way without having your face caught on camera. You arranged a meeting with him at an hour when only the cameras outside the building operate. You would call him to you, and leave a witness…" I nodded to Pat Kantby in the audience, who looked as if someone close to him had died. "A witness that would say you left the room for only five minutes, hardly the time to go to his office on the 30th."

I sighed. "Ms. Wreath didn't come back to the Herms' co. company building that night to retrieve her cell phone. No, she had her phone alright. She really went at your request. How you managed to convince her is not my or the court's business. You needed her to signal you, she would call you when she saw him leave his office, so you could time your departure from the room and meet your victim for a short amount of time, so as not to leave your witness suspicious. And on the 30th floor she stayed until you needed her yet again…"

"Let's just say all of this ridiculous babble is true." Ken looked to me with reddening eyes. "If things went the way you explained it, the blackmail would have gone by without a hitch. He'd return to his office with his precious document, and I'd take the money." He rested his head on the witness stand. "So why would Mr. Herms end up dead?"

"Because..." I had to fight to keep going. We were reaching the end, and the closer I came, the more pain I felt. "Something went wrong during the blackmailing." I turned and addressed the judge and prosecution. "I presume we all remember the murder weapon?" I took out my picture of it. "I visited the forensics department of the local precinct, arranged by my good friend Detective Terry Scours. While I was there, I found one print; one fourth of a print that matched with the print on the stone, which was Mr. Herms'."

"So that one unreadable print actually led somewhere after all," Ian was staying unusually quiet and calm, "and here I thought it was of no importance because un-whole prints cannot be tested."

"This proves that when Mr. Herms came down t the seventeenth floor, he was holding the knife. Not the murderer." I looked to the audience. "One can guess as to why he would bring a knife with him? He did not want the news of his illegitimate child reaching the press. But he was pretty keen on not letting go of the money either. So he made himself a third choice. And that choice was to…" I stood back up, my hands plastered against my desk. "…kill the blackmailer."

I shook my head. "That's why nobody heard the glass weapons case break either. Sid Herms broke it so he could arm himself. It was too bad he was unprepared for a fight. He was stressed, not in sound mind. I know, I saw him that night. He was a nervous wreak, and he knew that with his choice, he was facing life or death. Obviously, we know how that gamble turned out."

I saw Ken tense up, recalling painful memories.

_Good morning Mr. Herms. I'm glad you followed the instructions… good man._

…

_Why don't we take a ride in the elevator? We can talk inside in privacy._

… _I won't let you do this you… swine! You, the people who took my son away from me! _

_What is this all about? Surely you knew?_

_Of course I knew you bastard! My own son, a member of that despicable criminal organization! That's why I want his name taken off my will! No son of mine will be a thug! He deserves no money from me!_

_Well that's unfortunate for you. Soon as we heard you weren't going to pass the money onto us, we had to compensate, you see. You brought this blackmail upon yourself, now it's about time I take the money that belongs to us; that belongs to NYM._

… _No, I won't let you._

_Won't let me?_

_I found a third option. My son won't get it, you won't get it, and my reputation remains unsoiled…_

_What are you-_

_Take this!! RAAAAAAHHH!!_

"He almost got me… I only managed to press his wrist on the wall, making his drop his weapon…" Ken whispered under his breath so that nobody could hear.

_What? You were going to KILL me?_

_No… I'm sorry… I was foolish, please… let me go!_

_No one EVER touches a member of NYM! You brought this upon yourself! Now DIE!!_

_No, please!! GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!_

_--_

Ken breathed in and out rapidly. He held his hand to his chest and almost choked with a coughing fit.

"Are you feeling all right, Mr. Cline?"

He wiped his sleeve across his mouth. "What do you care?" He spat.

I backed away from the witness stand. "Now you had a huge problem. Here was the man you were supposed to be blackmailing, dead by your hands; by your rage. You were running out of time, you couldn't take much longer to keep your witness of a friend from getting suspicious. What were you to do with the body? Then you remembered, you had an accomplice on the thirtieth floor. You needed to return to your room, so you hurriedly wiped away the blood with towels from a nearby restroom and used a card key to transport the body to the thirtieth floor, let her take care of it while you returned to your insurance, your friend who could witness to you only leaving the room for less than five minutes, if the circumstances demanded it."

He wasn't looking at me. He laid his head facedown on the witness stand, silent.

"Now, we come to the final piece of the puzzle. What occurred after you called your accomplice, after she found the body in the elevator?"

I leaned over on my desk, fatigue starting to get the better of me. "She panicked."

Holly was still there, standing at the front of the audience, shedding tear after tear.

"Where would she hide the body? She must have dragged it to the office, the closest door and the only place she could think of. Luckily, however, she found what she thought to be the perfect hiding place. Outside the broken window, a window-washing platform sat. He pulled it up and put the body on it, thinking she could quietly lower the body to the ground level where she could easily pick it up on her way out…"

"Something doesn't make sense." Ian had his eyes closed, "Your client, Doug Grave was supposedly cleaning up an office mess at the time on that floor, right outside of Mr. Herms' office door. He would have seen Mr. Herms leave his office, and he certainly would have seen the secretary dragging his dead body into the office."

I presented the fingerprints on the payphone. "My client told me that he spent well over fifteen minutes trying to reach his wife at home to tell her he would be late at the payphone in an isolated hallway on the thirtieth floor. Sid would have gone during this time."

Ian didn't seem to be affected at all. "That seems hard to prove."

"Just listen, it'll make sense soon. As he was coming back, Ms. Wreath heard him. Panicking, she must have only just put the body on the now raised window washing platform. She heard him coming, so she had to get out of the office as fast as she could. Seeing the open door, Doug Graves became curious and took a look inside. But as he looked over the broken window, the impossible happened…"

_SNAP!_

"The window washing platform was already in bad condition, but just before Mr. Graves looked outside the window, one of the pulleys on the side of the platform broke."

I pushed one of Roger Watcher's photos to the edge of my desk. "This is the first photo, since it is well lit without any other light source, before the flash on Roger's camera shattered. I wondered what this strange part of a metal object and rope were doing at the top of the photo. Now I can see, it is part of the broken window washing platform. The body fell off of the platform as is swung on only one rope, then…

_AIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE!!_

"Doug Graves saw the body falling and let out a terrified scream. Not only had he just seen a dead body fall out a window, he had also just stepped on a piece of glass. He fainted out of stress. This is the scream Ms. Holly Wreath heard and was oh-so-eager to tell us about when she gave testimony earlier. As she stared in horror at the unconscious body in the office, she received instruction from Ken Cline; whom she had told about what had just happened. He told her to sweep the glass shards out the window, to make it look as if the body had been pushed out the window." I breathed deeper than I had ever inhaled or exhaled. "That is what really happened that night, your honor."

He blinked in surprise. "R-r-really? Err…"

"You can't prove it."

I turned my attention to Ian Vice. "What now?"

He wasn't smiling, which unnerved me. "It's a nice story, and the pieces even fit all pretty like. But no amount of evidence is ever going to prove this without a doubt." He opened his eyes, "I knew that you'd never be able to finish what you started. You performed very well, exceptionally well for a rookie. But it's over. Without proof, it's just a story, not a fact."

I squeezed my fists together; one last piece of evidence, one last piece of the puzzle. But this evidence won't get the acquittal alone, I needed to show it to somebody; somebody who knew the whole story, but may be reluctant to do so.

"Ms. Wreath?"

She was staring at her blue heeled shoes. Her face came to my gaze with mascara dripping over her face. "Y-yes?"

I handed her the blue card key covered in Ken's prints.

_If that's the case, then how were you able to go up to the 30__th__ floor that night, unless you took the stairs?_

I stared into her face, the entire case was coming to a close… right now.

_But then again; only Sid's and mine are special._

"Do you recognize this card key?"

_Umm… And why would you call yours and Sid's key cards 'special', Ms. Wreath?_

She took it in her hands, a tear from her cheek dropped and splashed onto the blue card.

_Wha-? They're blue!_

She looked into my eyes, tears blurring the color of her own. "This is Sid's card key…"

I sighed. "That's what I thought." I placed my hand behind he head. "Do you see what he's done? I know he probably convinced you otherwise, but this proves that he had no card key of his own."

"H-he lied to me…"

"So he probably told you that he didn't kill him…"

She couldn't speak.

"Will you tell us, can you tell me if what I've said is the truth?"

She looked to Ken. He was red in the face, raw from crying, mouthing the word, _"please" … "please"._

"Y-you…" she sobbed. She threw down the card to the floor. "You told me he killed himself! You told me he committed suicide! How could you… how could you USE me like this!! You kept his card key… you thought I wouldn't be able to get inside the office, or anywhere! You took my card key the day before! You were going to leave me with the body on the top floor, I wouldn't be able to use the elevator and then I'd…" she looked as if she might hyperventilate. "I'd drag the body downstairs… try to get it out of the building… because I… I LOVED you! But you'd have been long gone, and the police would have shone up… and then… then…"

She burst into tears. "It's all true!! Everything the defense says is true!! He killed him with that dreadful knife… and I panicked… thank god the office door was open! I found the window washing platform and tried to lower the body down… but then I heard somebody coming and I…"

She was unable to go on any longer, her throat closed up. Gently, I took her hand and led her to her seat. She looked into my eyes again, and they looked brighter, as if the clouds had finally cleared. I kissed her wrist as she sat back down.

"Thank you."

--

"Not Guilty."

Ken was escorted out of the courtroom by two guards dressed in black, their garbs almost looking like deathly cloaks in the right light. I saw Mike Angelo to my right, frowning shaking his head in what looked like shame. I went up to him. "I can't believe it."

He grasped his hands together and held them to his lips. "You can't believe what, Gordon?"

I looked into his face. "I can't believe Ken actually did this. The Ken I knew and loved as a friend. The Ken I met in high school. The Ken I defended just two weeks ago." I held my hand up to my forehead, where a warm sweat had formed.

"Fantastic, Gordon."

I did a double-take. "What now?"

He smiled. "I was testing you. If you had said, "I can't believe I won the case!" In a tone of excitement or happiness, that would have shown me that you cared more for the case than the fate of our friend. Now I know it was always his best interests you held at heart. Not only did you trust your client, you were also confident and trusted Ken, in a way, to accept what he had done. Bravo."

With a huge grin, he began clapping his hands in front of me. After a minute, I realized that the entire court was applauding me. Sketchers, reporters, even regular citizens were celebrating my victory. As the joy washed over me, I finally felt happy for the first time this week. I smiled and waved to the audience, some of whom had even begun cheering for me. I, Gordon Truth, had solved one of the most important cases in history. The murder of the richest man in New York City was closed. I drank it in for one last second, then made my way back to the defense lounge.

"You were amazing big brother!"

I laughed, gently rubbing my little sister's head. "I couldn't have done it without you. If you hadn't have come to my defense when Pat Kantby accused me, I'd probably be on trial myself right now!"

She laughed with me. "Yeah, I was amazing too. I know."

I spied Pat Kantby back against the wall to my left, he came up to me. "Listen, Gordon. I'm sorry for trying to put the blame on you…"

"It's fine." I looked with at pity at him, the man Ken Cline had played all the way to the end. I quickly turned toward the other door, where Benjamin Bell was leaning against the wall, almost the same place he was leaning the last time I was in this room.

"Hey Ben."

He looked to me and his lips quivered into a thin smile. "I've never seen anything like that." He began looking at his shoes again. "I've never even dreamed of winning a case of that magnitude… You know that you're now in the public eye, right?"

"Huh?"

"Well, look at what you've just won! As far as the public knows, you're the best attorney in New York City."

The news came at me like a blow to the stomach. Was I really the best attorney in New York? A rookie with only two cases under his belt? … Wow…

"So I guess it's really Truth & Bell now, not just Bell?" I said with a smile.

He smiled back. "Maybe, or maybe just Truth after that victory."

I held up my fist. "Unstoppable Defenders Of Justice?"

He looked at my fist longingly, then shook his head. "N-not in front of all these people."

It was when he said that when I noticed one more person in the court. A black-haired, black-gloved, red-faced someone.

"Ken?"

"They say I can have a few seconds with you."

"Ken… I'm so sorry."

Then something impossible happened, he laughed and smiled. "Don't be."

"W-w-w-what now?"

"Do you know how long I've wanted to get out of that New York Mob crap? Well, I guess I didn't think I did. But now when I think about it, yeah, I definitely didn't like it."

I only stared at him. He sighed and lost his smile. "Look, I would rather have not gone to jail, that's why I fought so hard out there. But now that it's over… I feel…"

He laughed, then his eyes found mine. "You've freed me, Gordon Truth. It may look like I'm imprisoned, but the opposite is true."

"But Ken, I don't understand… why join NYM?"

He sighed again. "I really can't tell you anything about that. Let's just say I had little choice." He grabbed my shoulder. "Anyway, if you were able to bring me down, you probably have a chance to take down NYM entirely."

"Wha-? Take down NYM?"

He shrugged. "Well, you never know. I thought I had zero chance of being discovered. I guess I made one mistake to many, am I right?" He ended with a chuckle.

I frowned. "Ken, what you did to those people. You played Pat like a fiddle, making him your insurance witness, getting information out of him… And especially what you did to Holly Wreath, you made her fall in love with you just so you could manipulate her, and even frame her for murder if it came to it?" I shook my head. "I just can't understand."

"Yeah…" He frowned too. "The thing is, I can't either."

"Oh, and I figured out the last part of your plan."

"Eh? What's that?"

I drew the card I had gotten from my client from my pocket; my card. "I heard you were passing my card out to everyone during lunch, your last part of your insurance. Any one of those people could have been blamed for the murder of Sid Herms, since they were all on the thirtieth floor. So you passed out my card, you wanted to make sure that it was me who defended this case, because you thought that I'd never name you as a suspect, even if I thought about it."

He looked away again.

"Ken, Pat Kantby and Holly Wreath weren't the only people you played, you played me too. Or at least tried."

"That's what I don't get…"

My eyes widened. "What now?"

He looked me in the face. "What made you chase me down as soon as you began to suspect me?"

I hesitated, looking into my friend's face. "The truth."

The guards appeared behind Ken. "Mr. Cline, that will be enough."

He turned around. "O-okay, thanks." And with one last worried look to me, he disappeared behind the door along with his guards.

--

There have been calls; my God, have there been calls. Even though everyone though so highly of me, I still couldn't shake the feeling of butterflies in my stomach every time someone asked for my defense. I enjoy the interviews a lot more. I was on national news and someone even mentioned something about appearing on the Letterman show, which I knew I'd turn down if it ever came up again. But there was still this feeling plaguing me, NYM was still out there, and they were still up their dirty tricks. Somehow, Will Edgedamin managed to keep his name on his late father's will, and he ended up with the fortune. No one has heard from him since.

_ring_

Wait, I have to take this.

"Hello? Gordon Truth, Attorney at Law speaking."

"Mr. Truth? I need a lawyer, so I thought I'd call you up… I'm at the detention center."

"Don't worry about a thing. I'll be there in a minute."

"Thank you."

"Well, it was nice talking to you. I know I've kind of stolen the business from you, only for a few days though, calls for you come every now and then. I took your advice; I've heightened my fee, and they don't even bat an eyelash at it. Sure, I'm sad about Ken, but I think he was glad where he ended up, in a way. I want to thank you for all of the great advice, it's really helped with the last few cases, especially that double homicide one, I almost lost myself in that one. Thank god for Clara, she's always there for me when I feel down. She's saved me from losing some cases many times. It's good that we talk like this, I know you're suddenly so interested in what I've been doing ever since that Ken Cline case, and I have to admit I was bit creeped out at first. But I enjoyed telling it, I hope you enjoyed listening. Sorry, I've got to go, new client at the detention center, wish me luck Ben!"

"Yeah, sure. Thanks for all the… info."

Gordon walked out the door of our office, smiling sunshine to all the neighbors. I walked to the chest behind my desk and stuck my key in, popping open the top. I reached in and took out a small pistol.

"This bullet's meant for you, Gordon. Just you wait."


End file.
